


The Stranger

by kaelliope



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Angst, Bloodhound headcanons, Chronic Illness, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff, Forced Proximity, Forehead Kisses, Friends With Benefits, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other, Panic Attack, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sickfic Elements, Slow Burn, Whump, everyone is soft honestly, feat. my google research on norse mythos, snowed in and stuck together lol, themes of dysphoria/dysmorphia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaelliope/pseuds/kaelliope
Summary: After the destruction of Repulsor and the invasion of the leviathans, Kings Canyon is shut down completely. The Games are in an ‘off-season’ and the legends are sent home. However, immediately following the disaster, chaos broke out and many contestants are still left unaccounted for….Elliott Witt, better known as Mirage, is thrust into a series of unexpected circumstances and develops a rather unexpected interest in the strangest person he’s ever met.Bloodhound, only known as Bloodhound, is, for the first time, brought out of their solitude at the edge of the woods. In pursuit of companionship, the lonesome hunter learns that they have a lot of growing up to do.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 97
Kudos: 199





	1. New Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO… 
> 
> I've heard from multiple sources that the season trailers are not canon in their entirety. But… its the only canon ‘plot’ we have rn so imma work with it... and tweak it ;)  
> Enjoy yall!

Elliott drifted in and out of consciousness. Reality was skewed, twisted, and fragmented by ravenous pain. _Pain_. It bit into him viciously. It clawed at every nerve. His body felt torn apart. His limbs were ripped off, scattered. The pain consumed him so completely that he couldn't feel where his senses ended. 

He cried out for relief, but there was no response. 

The periphery of his vision throbbed as he struggled to open his eyes, desperate for a taste of reality. He found that one was swollen and bruised. His strained vision was met with a blinding light.

He snapped his eyes shut.

_Heaven? I can’t be in heaven._

Elliott wanted to know something, _anything_ other than pain. He struggled against his own body again. 

At first, all he could see were the blurry slats of his eyelashes. He slowly opened the eye that wasn’t beaten and swollen. Elliott was entranced by the way the fuzzy colors came into focus. 

He was lying down, _low_. _On the floor, kind of._ There was a figure sitting close to his feet. 

_Mom._

_No, not mom._

His mother was a lot smaller. 

Elliott craned to see more, but pain shot through his back and neck. He moaned and collapsed, exhausted from the small motion. The figure patted his leg. It was a gesture of comfort and kindness, but Elliott’s nerves were so fried, all he felt was a sting that jumped like electricity through him. Tears welled up and he let them fall. They stung the scraped skin on his face. He was tired. 

_So tired._

Elliott fell back into limbo— half asleep, half awake. Something soft and tender brushed his forehead. _A hand maybe, or— lips?_ He swore he heard the shaky whisper of breath and the brush of hair against his head...

_Tired…_

* * *

His brothers were there in the dreams, except they weren’t…. Elliott was confused. He was standing in the kitchen of his grandfather’s farmhouse. He was looking for them.

 _Hide and seek._

He turned and shoved open the screen door, running outside. The farm was beautiful. Summer cicadas buzzed. A bountiful and endless expanse of corn crops waved in the wind. He looked up to see the pink day time sky, but curiously enough it was littered with the glittering stars of the night. Elliott couldn't feel his legs, but he ran as fast as he could into the cornfield. 

Something was following him. 

Fear jolted through Elliott. He frantically looked around, pushing the crop out of his face. There was nothing. _But_ _he felt it._

He knew what it was. It was strange and _terrifying_. 

* * *

Elliott awoke with a jolt, the dream was still vivid in his mind. The smell of the childhood farm lingered for a moment then faded. _Pain._ He was in considerably less pain now. He must've been given Medix when he was delirious. _That stuff always gives you crazy dreams._

Thankfully, his vision returned as relatively stable. His left eye ached from bruising so he kept it lidded. 

Elliott focused on his surroundings. He was lying on a mattress on the upper floor of a barn, _no_ , _cabin_? He wasn't sure, but the little shelter smelled of pine. To his left, there was a small window with a candle sitting on the sill. It was dark outside, but the candle and the oil lamp that hung above him cast cozy, dim light. 

Elliott was neatly tucked under a quilt. It had intricate and colorful geometric patterns running along it. He recognized them as vaguely European. He suddenly realized he was hot and threw off the quilt. His injured body was bare; he wore nothing but his underwear. 

Alarmed and confused by his state of undress, Elliott sat up. 

Pain was unforgiving and immediately jumped through his back and down his shoulders.

_Deep breaths._

His right shoulder seemed to be the worst. 

Elliott breathed through the pain and instead focused on the small bedside table to his left. There was a hotplate on it and a steaming mug on the hot plate. A folded piece of paper sat up neatly next to it. Pieces of reality came back to him. It was all so strange…

Anxiety racked his body. _Where the hell_ — _what the hell?!_

Elliott began to shake. His healing bones screamed at him to stop, but it only got worse. His ability to breathe was snatched away; instead, all he could do was barely swallow air. He buried his face in his hands and felt his swollen left eye. There was a line of stitches on his forehead. He picked at them in an attempt to release the tension. Despite the cozy atmosphere of his surroundings, something sinister hung in the air. 

Something sinister he could feel, but couldn’t see. 

_What is going on?! Mom..._

_Mom._

Despite rounding thirty, Elliott still expected his mother to be with him when he felt this bad— when the anxiety boiled up into a full-blown panic. She probably had no idea where he was now either. Guilt enveloped him at the thought of her. His chest tightened. _Not now. Not now._ He had to try and focus. 

His hands shook violently as he ran them through his greasy hair. Once, twice, then several times. Elliott repeated the ritual until he felt numb. The grip of anxiety still ebbed, but at least now he could reach out for the paper note on the little table. 

* * *

Drink. I will be back in the morning. Do NOT get up. Left ankle is broken.

* * *

Elliott realized the brace on his ankle for the first time. He didn’t try to wiggle it, _but the note._

_Drink? The mug…_

He reached for the mug and then gripped it tightly in shaking hands. The warmth of the drink eased his strained muscles. The drink smelled of cinnamon. To Elliott, the cinnamon scent was the Christmas cookies his mother made.The nostalgia nagged at his heart painfully so he set the tea aside. 

_The note._

It was discarded on his lap now. The note was written as concise, but equally demanding. It was short with no more words than needed. The person who had brought him here must’ve written it. 

_Short. Concise. Demanding._

_Pine. This place smells of pine. I'm in the woods. This is a tiny cabin. Its night time outside. The person who is here is out at night. In the woods? Why? Isn't it dangerous? Can they see? Can they see in the woods at night?_

Elliott’s stomach dropped. 

_Bloodhound._

_No. That makes_ no _sense._

Elliott couldn’t shake the miserable feeling that somehow, he was right. The thought was too bizarre and strange, but that was kind of the situation he was in now. Besides, they were the only person he knew that would be the type to wander around in the forest at night. 

_Bloodhound…_

_They_ were bizarre and strange. Despite being his teammate in multiple Games, he knew next to nothing about them. Sure, some contestants were a bit more reserved than others, but Bloodhound wasn’t just reserved, they were mysterious, in the creepiest way possible at that.

They never spoke one more word than they needed— save for the times when they praised their gods. 

_Short. Concise. Demanding._

If it was true, _why?_ Why was he out here with Bloodhound? Had it been the Games? Was he hurt and for some reason he ended up in their woodland lair? Why did they help him? They had always regarded him with mild annoyance, but...

_They helped me._

The stitches on his forehead were fresh so Bloodhound had to have done them. And they fixed the brace and… 

_They undressed me._

The thought of the hunter carefully removing his gear and clothing, stitching him up, and then tenderly resting his broken body on the bed made him flushed. They may be a _weirdo,_ but they had their moments of compassion. Elliott recalled the final championship game of last season. Without hesitation, Bloodhound had sacrificed their personal stash of meds to Renee. She was in horrible shape, legs mangled from an enemy barrage. Hound wasn’t much better off either, but they still gave everything to her. 

_That person._

Elliott recalled the blurry figure that was sitting with him earlier. He couldn’t make out anything other than a silhouette. They were tall and thin. _Thin- meaning they must’ve been out of their gear._

 _And a kiss on the forehead?_

He was unsure if he imagined what he felt. It was all a blur. Elliott racked his brain desperately trying to separate his fever dreams from reality. _No, it didn’t happen._ He figured it was a memory of his mother that his brain conjured up in the moment as a way to cope. 

A broken ankle was nothing to Elliott right now. He didn’t mind his shoulder, his ribs or his numerous amount of lacerations. Ignoring the advice of the letter, he slowly rose to his knees, then his feet. 

The upper level of the cabin was small. It wasn't a proper floor either as there was no wall to his right. The upper floor was cut off and accessed by a small ladder. Elliott figured the whole place was smaller than his apartment. 

He peered down below to the lower level. It looked like a cozy living room. The ladder would prove to be a challenge for him, but he didn’t care. He wanted to nose around. _If_ Hound was the one who brought him here, he _needed_ to nose around. This might be the only chance he would get— _before they killed him, chopped him up into tiny pieces and sacrificed him to the gods._

Elliott struggled to get down the ladder. Electric pain would shoot up his left leg any time he put the slightest pressure on his ankle. Eventually, he managed.

He now stood halfway between a tiny kitchen and the living space. There was a door at the far end of the kitchen that he assumed led to a tiny bathroom. The kitchen was very queer— nearly everything was cluttered and crooked. Dried herbs hung on a small part of the wall. Dishes were stacked in the sink. The stove was a bit rusty and probably three decades old. Elliott took note of a minimal bookshelf that hugged one wall. Melted candles spilled over on one shelf. Elegant bookends held several books written in a language he didn’t understand. Crystals, weird shards of metal and generally useless tchotchkes covered every available inch of the shelves.

Elliott certainly wasn’t a neat freak but the place was so impossibly cluttered it gave him an unshakeable, subtle sense of anxiety. 

He picked up a blood crystal eyeing it with morbid fascination. 

The screen door swung open behind him. 

Elliott whipped around. 

“What the hell are _you_ doing?! I told you not to get up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot for this fic has been rattling around in my brain for months now. I’m super excited to get it all out. “The Stranger” by Lord Huron was my initial inspiration. The song is just major miragehound vibes okay.  
> I’m gonna try to update weekly. We’ll see if I can manage lol. The holidays are coming and that should make things a bit easier since I’ll be out of school :) 
> 
> Also made a board with my visuals, aesthetics and inspo for this fic!! Check it out if ur interested!  
> https://pin.it/uuj3fnshcy4653


	2. New Person

The screen door swung open behind him. 

Elliott whipped around. 

“What the hell are _you_ doing?! I told you not to get up!”

_It was Hound. Definitely._

Their accent was familiar, but sharp and the words cut through him. They were nearly yelling at him. Without the mask, the emotion in their voice was a lot more clear. Elliott barely noticed their tone, however, he just stood there frozen and staring. 

The person in front of him wasn’t ‘Bloodhound’. 

They were the average passerby in the supermarket— the person you sat across from on the subway. Bloodhound, The Beast of the Hunt, the most decorated champion of all time, looked remarkably _average_. 

They remained androgynous, but nothing about them was particularly striking.

They wore a fuzzy sweater jacket with thick khakis, clearly designed for the ‘outdoorsy’ types. The same boots they wore in the ring had dragged some dirt in. Certain bits of their gear were still strapped around them and Elliott took note of the large hunting rifle slung across their back. On their head, they sported a fluffy hunting hat with large flaps that framed their face. Thin strands of dark hair were escaping. 

Bloodhound pulled down the scarf that covered half their face. Elliott ogled at the nasty scars that ran across the contours of their visage— they were almost akin to faded burns. He flicked his gaze up and was met with piercing eyes that stared a clean hole straight through him. Their expression was made more severe by the thin wrinkles that framed their features. 

Elliott realized that he must have been staring for several seconds. Embarrassed, he looked away. Hound stepped towards him and he jumped back. They froze. 

Completely dumbfounded and terrified, Elliott shakily met their stare again. 

Hound softened their expression and pulled thin lips into a crooked smile. The scars were gruesome, but their smile… 

_Oh._

When they weren’t glaring at him they looked _kind of...nice. In a lot of ways._

Behind Elliott, something screamed. The sound was so loud and unholy, he jumped out of his skin.

Elliott coughed violently, choking on his own spit. He flipped around to see a mangy black bird on the counter. By the way it was peering at him with one beady eye, it seemed to be judging his lack of clothing. 

_Fuckin’ thing wasn’t there before._

Bloodhound laughed.

_Laughed._

_They never laugh._

“Oh, I apologize. I should not have yelled, I’m sure this is ah- all very confusing. I merely did not want you to hurt yourself more, but it seems you are recovering well. I do hope at least,” Hound was almost babbling. Their voice was warm, cordial and apologetic. 

Elliott was shocked by the development. He was confronted with an entirely new person, totally unlike the one that fought beside him in the ring; he remained silent. 

“Can you speak?” They eyed him, worried. “You did hit your head hard...” they thought out loud to themself.

It took a few moments for Elliott to respond. 

“No. Ah— I mean yes I can. I’m, uh, I’m alright. I think.” 

“Good.” Bloodhound began removing their gear and placed their hunting rifle on a rack. They moved into the tiny kitchen rubbing their gloved hands together. They glanced down at his boxers as they passed him.

“Are you cold?” 

“Oh, oh, no, uh I’m good.” Elliott gripped onto a shelf as they moved towards the stove. 

“I am sure you saw your gear.” They nodded to the small sitting perch by the window where his gear was neatly folded up. “It all looks...rather uncomfortable. I would assume you would not want to wear it now. If you would like, I have clothes you could borrow.” They set a kettle on the stove and glanced back at him. 

“S-sure yeah. That’d be nice, thanks.”

“Are you in pain?” They asked suddenly, voice laced with concern. 

“No! I’m— I mean, yeah, a little bit, but it's not too bad.” Elliott hobbled and shifted his weight. 

“You just seem a little, ah, how do I say … You just seem, off.” Hound cocked their head quizzically. 

“Oh well, ya’ know this is all just, uh a— a lot to take in.”

After finishing preparing what was presumably more tea, they leaned against the counter opposite to him and folded their arms. Their presence was still strong even without the intimidation factor of the mask.

“I would imagine.” They nodded gingerly, studying him. 

For a moment, Elliott was silent, unsure of how to respond. They were so _casual_ . He figured it was foolish of him to think that Bloodhound wasn’t a normal person with a normal face. Here, they weren’t as mythical as they were in the ring. They _seemed_ to live a quiet, humble life. 

“You live here uh, by yourself?” Elliott blurted. It was in his nature to try and return things to some sense of normalcy. And besides, he was itching to know more about his new companion.

“No.” They motioned to the fat bird perched on the counter next to them. The creature studied him, just like it’s master. 

“Aha, that thing doesn’t count.” He jested.

Bloodhound grinned. Elliott was relieved they took the joke well. They seemed awfully attached to the black pigeon. 

“If you are speaking of strictly humans, then yes, I live alone. You are the first guest I have had... in a long time.” 

Elliott wondered what other guests they had— and why they didn’t have any more. 

“Don’t ‘cha get lonely, and like— bored?” 

Hound’s face stiffened and they swiftly moved over to a wardrobe on the other side of their cramped cabin. They began to shift through clothes. 

“Bored? Rarely. There is plenty to do and plenty of time for recreation as well.” 

Elliott had taken note of the cello case that sat in a corner. 

“Oh sure, but are you _lonely_ ?” He was genuinely curious as to how someone could live like this every day and not lose their mind. Bloodhound seemed _relatively_ sane.

“No, I have my avian _vinir_ . _”_

_Ok, maybe not so sane._

“C’mon, I told ya they don’t count. I’m talking _humans.”_

Bloodhound playfully tossed a shirt and sweatpants at him. 

“Why do they not count? I understand them best. Maybe I am just not, ah— _people person_.” Their eyes narrowed and they planted their hands on their hips. 

“Ha! That’s an understatement. Seems like the only time you’re ever around folks is when you’re killin’ em in the Games.” Elliott sat down in the single chair near their tiny dining table. 

“Or… when I am fighting alongside them,” Hound retorted. Elliott couldn't read their expression. It was a cross between admiration, annoyance and _what was that_ — _flirtation? No._

“Ah right, the Games,” Elliott sighed as he struggled with the sweatpants. “I figure that’s why I’m here?” 

“Mhm.” They nodded. “There was something— oh I am not sure. An unexpected disaster of sorts. The repulsor tower was destroyed from an internal explosion. Everyone was instructed to evacuate.” They paused to make sure he was following. 

“So how did I end up here?” There was a bit of misgiving in Elliott’s voice. He didn’t like the thought of being dragged out to the middle of the woods by a stranger and he _certainly_ didn’t like the thought of his mother having no way to contact him. Whatever disaster they spoke of had to have ended up on interstellar television and his mother must’ve seen it. 

“ _Well_.” Hound paused gathering their words. “There was no other way. Evacuation ships were scrambled and medical services were not immediately available.” 

“What about Ajay? She’s like, a doctor right?”

“I could not locate her.” 

There was a calculated way in which Bloodhound spoke, almost as if they had rehearsed this conversation. Deep down in Elliott’s gut, he didn't think their story made sense; but he trusted them— with his life in fact. Hound had saved him in the ring once before, how could this be any different. 

“Ah yeah, I get it.” He sighed. Elliott figured he’d push them more on the issue later. He didn’t want to come off as unappreciative of their help. 

The tea kettle whizzed excitedly. 

“Oh, it’s ready!” Bloodhound clapped their hands together like a quaint old woman. “Do you want any?” 

“Nah, no thanks.” Elliott smiled politely.

“Did you drink what I gave you earlier?” They asked while pouring themself a mug.

“I’m uh, not much of a _tea guy_.”

“Coffee then?”

“Nah.” 

“Hm. Then what do you prefer?” Hound dragged a stool from the kitchen to the small table.

“Beer?” Elliott was only half-joking.

Bloodhound frowned as they settled down across from him and took the mug in their hands.

“Do not tell me you wake up and have a can of beer in the morning.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a _teetotaler_.” He smirked.

Hound’s expression turned blank. “What does that mean?” They chirped.

“Uh, it means you don’t like, drink alcohol.” 

“Oh! I get it! You drink _totally tea.”_ They took a sip and peered over the mug at Elliott.

His stomach did about three different flips. They sounded so genuine and adorable; he didn’t think they were even trying to make a joke. Their accent punctuated every word and only endeared them more.

“Haha, I mean, yeah-ah. I guess.” 

Despite the small wrinkles that revealed their age, Hound was starting to seem more childlike. Their eyes sparkled with naïveté and Elliott got the suspicion that they didn’t get out much. This ‘real Bloodhound’ was a far cry from what the tabloids theorized. They were just a harmless hermit. 

“I cannot say I’ve had alcohol.” Bloodhound looked up trying to remember something. “What does it taste like?”

Elliott scoffed. _Okay, so they get out… never_ he thought. 

“ _It’s bitter and it burns your throat_ ,” he spoke slowly and with a hint of condescension as if he were speaking to a child.

Hound didn’t seem to catch on.“Ah.” They sounded disappointed. “It seems unpleasant. Why do so many people enjoy it?” 

“You can _not_ be serious right now.”

“I am serious!” They frowned at him, frustrated. 

“ _God._ You’re a weirdo.” Elliott chuckled and sat back in the chair.

Bloodhound took a quick sip. “I don’t care. I am still curious, so why don’t you answer my question?”

“You’ll just have to come over to my bar sometime and try it out.” Elliott wore a devilish grin. The thought of this ‘new Bloodhound’ drunk was amusing, to say the least. 

A nervous expression wormed its way across their face as they contemplated the idea. “Hm. I don't think it will be for me.” They concluded. 

“Eh, suit yourself. You’ll still come to my bar sometime, though, right?”

“Do you serve tea there?” Bloodhound asked genuinely. 

“No, weirdo. It’s a _bar!”_

Hound blinked and looked offended. Elliott felt a small pang of guilt in his chest. “W-well I dunno, maybe you can have like— a coke or something.” They didn’t respond and still looked confused. “There’s no alcohol in it. Uh, the coke that is. It’s fizzy and sweet” 

“Oh. That sounds better.” Their expression lightened. 

The two sat in silence for a while. Elliott listened to them delicately sip and blow on the tea. Oddly enough, he enjoyed it. The mythic hunter was sitting with him doing very human things. There was a novelty to it all. He realized that he was still holding the shirt they had given him. It was red and a little worn. Elliott slipped it on and took note of the holes near the hem. 

“That looks good on you,” Hound commented sincerely. They set the mug down with a light clink. 

“You shootin’ at me, partner?” Elliott smirked and rested an arm on the table. He leaned in. 

“Huh?” Bloodhound stared at him. Their eyes were bright and wide. 

“ _Flirting_! Are you flirting with me?” He laughed while secretly trying his hardest to contain the rising heat on his face. 

“No!” Hound jumped back, almost out of disgust, upon fully processing his question. “It was just a kind compliment!” 

“Ah ah. C’mon now. It’s just a raggedy ol’ t-shirt, but I guess _you_ think I look good in _anything_.” Elliott winked. A surge of confidence overcame him and he sat up a bit straighter.

“No! I mean yes— I mean no!” A bright flush covered Bloodhound’s face and Elliott admired his work. “I don’t want to offend you but—“

“But _whaaat_?” Elliott feigned offense and blinked up at them innocently.

Hound took a deep sigh and closed their eyes. “I did not intend for my comment to be a romantic gesture.” 

“Aw, Houndie you’re killin’ me.” Elliott pouted and placed his chin in his hands.

“Hound— _ie_?” 

“Well, what the hell else am I gonna call ya? Don’t ya have a name, other than like, _Bloodhound_?” It was a serious question and Elliott desperately wanted to know the answer.

In an instant, their face turned to stone. They looked away, clearly made uncomfortable by the question. “Just… call me by what you know me as,” Bloodhound said softly. 

“Right. S-sorry.” Elliott didn’t want to push them, but he was also confused. Everyone has a name and _they couldn’t_ possibly be an exception. He figured it was a detail that they wanted to keep private. _Someday I will know your name_ he thought idyllically. As Hound was turned away from him, Elliott took advantage of the tiny moment to study their face. 

His eyes were naturally caught by the large scar that garnished their lip. Their skin was radiant it _was beautiful,_ even if it was creased by age. The angles of their face sat high and pronounced. In the low light, it was difficult to see, but Elliott swore he could make out light freckles that adorned their cheeks. 

“Almost time for breakfast,” Bloodhound announced suddenly and grinned at him. 

“But it's still uh, dark out?” Come to think of it, Elliott still knew very little about his surroundings. “And where are we...exactly?” 

“The northern isles of Gaea,” they piped excitedly. They were obviously relieved the conversation had shifted. “Sector C-2,” they then promptly reminded him. 

_Sector C-2._

_Damn._

Elliott was far from Solace which was orbiting in Frontier Sector _J-6._ He vaguely remembered visiting Zaladana on Gaea several years ago. The northern isles, however, were virtually uninabited— save for the ultra-rich and the whack-jobs. Elliott wondered if Hound was a bit of both. 

“As the winter months approach, the nights here grow long. The sun rises at about 6:30 and sets at about noon.” Bloodhound continued enthusiastically. They took a final sip from their mug and got up to bring it into the kitchen. “It is almost 6 now.” They added. 

A terrible feeling of homesickness spread throughout Elliott’s chest. He greatly enjoyed his time with Bloodhound. He was thankful for their hospitality and kindness, but he missed Solace. He missed his mother. He missed his friends. He even missed his bar and the grimy streets of Solace city. 

“Aha cool... Well y’know, I should probably be headin’ back soon. My ankles feelin’ a lot better and I think my ribs are healed. You got a jumpship, right?” 

No response. Anxiety made Elliott’s heart stop. He flipped around to watch Hound shakily set a pan on the stove. They turned to meet him, finally. Elliott couldn’t read their expression. To avoid looking him in the eye, they removed their hat and bowed their head. 

“Ah. A-about that...” 

“What. What is it.” Elliott demanded more than he asked. His stomach sunk quickly and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to suppress the nauseous feeling that was overtaking him. 

“I don’t think you will be able to leave. At least not for the immediate moment— “

“WHAT?!” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I rly enjoyed the dialogue in this one. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated <3


	3. New Feelings

As eggs and sausage sizzled on the stove, Bloodhound frantically tried to explain how they stole a dropship; how they almost crashed it while landing because they were tending to his wounds; how they believed the warp drive was damaged, but Elliott could fix it; and how a blizzard was coming soon so he wouldn't be able to get to it for at least a _week._ Hound then babbled on about how they had an old transmitter that could probably be fixed up and how, in the worst-case scenario, they could always send out an SOS. 

The entire time Elliott was silent. His mind was racing so much that he developed a nasty headache. His insides felt as if they were inverted from churning around. There were moments where he could barely hear Hound because his heart was pounding so loudly. He chastised himself for not having a phone on him— all he had now was his gear from the Games. The holotech was useless. _He_ felt useless. Hound had faith that he could fix the ship, but the truth was he had no experience with quantum drives or advanced propulsion mechanics.

He missed his mother. _More than ever_ . She probably didn’t even know if he was alive at this point. Elliott hated himself for the situation, but at the same time, he harbored a flame of resentment towards Bloodhound. What gave _them_ the right to drag him out here like this? What gave _them_ the right to decide his fate? They explained how the _Syndicate_ would mark every contestant as a suspect. They said that in his comprised state, they believed the best thing would be for him to recover away from all that. They said their actions in the moment were necessary, but Elliott still doubted them. 

Bloodhound placed a fork and a full plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of him. 

“I am so terribly sorry. None of this was meant to happen. I thought you were going to leave today too.” They finally concluded. They sat down in the stool across from him with their plate _._

_At least they sound genuine._

Elliott gave them a cold stare.

“I’m a fucking electrical engineering major. A drop out too,” he announced, “I don’t know jack-shit about por-pro-pr— whatever! I don't know anything about warp drives!” 

Bloodhound took a tiny bite of their eggs. “I might have a book on it,” they said meekly.

“A book? A _book_ ?! How the _hell_ do you expect me to fully repair a warp system from a _book_?!” Elliott was barely aware of the fact that he was yelling at them. 

“You can repair a radio transmitter though, correct?” Bloodhound was trying their hardest to be calm and helpful. 

“Yeah, but— ugh!” Elliott rubbed his temples. He was totally exhausted. 

The two sat in awkward silence for several minutes. Elliott watched the sunrise outside the glass of the screen door behind Hound. The first snowflakes of the impending blizzard sparkled in the morning light. Elliott then hung his head and picked at the eggs. They were cold by now. He knew his manners were terrible, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Hound had finished quickly and got up to put away their plate. They returned for a moment with a glass of water for him. Elliott mumbled a ‘thanks’. He now sat alone, staring into the eggs. _Just try to make the most of this_ he thought to himself, _not all hope is lost. Plus, at least they seem kinda… nice._

“I’m sorry, I-I’m just not hungry right now,” he said, not even looking up. 

Bloodhound stopped the faucet of the sink and they moved to pick up his plate. “It is quite alright,” they murmured kindly, “more for _Artur_.” 

Elliott vaguely recognized the name and he figured it was the bird. The wretched thing began to squawk and flail excitedly as Hound put the plate on the counter for it. Elliott turned around and watched the creature eviscerate the meal. It was fascinating— if a bit morbid. 

Hound finished cleaning the dishes and they moved past Elliott, silently, towards the small ladder that led to the upper level. They disappeared and Elliott was left alone with _Artur._ _Weird name,_ he remarked to himself. He prayed the creature would slow down a bit so it wouldn't go for his eyes next while its handler was gone. 

Soon enough, Bloodhound crawled back down the ladder and Elliott caught himself staring. They had combed their hair and let it all down so that messy bangs hung in their face. They wore a black athletic top that hugged their flat chest rather nicely. Thin, but elegantly toned arms were on full display now. Elliott took note of their long, veiny hands. He found them _incredibly_ attractive. 

An intrusive thought about how his current situation _maybe wasn't so bad_ popped into Elliott’s head. He pushed it away frantically, but he wasn't quick enough and felt his face slowly turning red. Thankfully, Bloodhound didn’t seem to notice. 

“Only one sausage,” they spoke directly to the bird now and picked up a small sausage from the plate. “Look at you. So fat. I spoil you too much.” They offered it to Elliott first. He shook his head, smiling, so they popped it into their mouth. 

Artur screamed out of rage and flapped its wings violently. Elliott jumped back, but Hound only giggled. 

“ _Vanþakklátur brat,”_ they scolded. “They are quite amusing, no? I wish they could have some better manners for our guest, but alas…” they trailed off and shot a mean look at the bird. It stared right back at them with the same frustration. 

Elliott laughed warmly— feeling a bit better and Hound took immediate notice of his change in mood. 

“Things will be alright,” they said softly. “Fate is on your side, _Elliott_ … You know? I think I will go fetch that transmitter now.” Through their shaggy mess of a haircut, they gave him an equally awkward and endearing wink. 

A piece of Elliott’s heart melted. They were so genuine. _And the way they said his name and the way they comforted him and the way their big eyes glittered and the way they smiled and—_

“Is something wrong?” 

Elliott’s face caught on fire as he realized he was just staring at them without responding. 

“Oh— NO! I’m just uh, a bit tired. Yeah, I’m tired. Really tired. Hah.” He chuckled nervously. 

“Ah. You are welcome to nap whenever you’d like. I can help you up the ladder if you need it.” Bloodhound slipped on their clunky boots. “The transmitter is in my shed. Ah— the snow is so beautiful. I will never be sick of it.” They placed a hand to the glass and watched the snowfall outside for a moment. 

“Yeah…” Elliott mumbled.

* * *

It had been several hours and Elliott was still sitting at the table. He was now accompanied by a mass of rusty motherboards, frayed wires, and broken antenna. Periodically, Bloodhound would jump up to refill his water, grab him a snack or bring him an instructional manual. _Hopeless_ , he thought. Elliott had long since moved past the stage of frustration and was now just depressed. 

Hound sat across from him dutifully. They watched like a hawk with their hands folded, resting in front of their mouth. Elliott wondered if they were praying. 

“Look,” Elliott began, “even if I was able to resolder these joints, the amplifier is so busted it's not like the signal would reach anyone.” He tossed a board on the table in defeat. “I-I just don’t understand how you live like this…?” Elliott moved his gaze up to meet theirs. Hound wore a disappointed expression. They fidgeted with some of the wires. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, like— you don’t have a phone and what if you had an accident or something? Or you were bleeding out? How would you contact emre-emer— uh, how would you get help?” Elliott was genuinely concerned. 

“I guess I would just die out here.” Hound shrugged nonchalantly.

“ _Seriously_?” 

“Ah. Yes…? If the gods ordain it— I am ready.” They observed him carefully. 

“Geez…” Elliott sighed. 

“The modern man is too soft— too afraid of death. Everything you have created is out of a desire to cheat, avoid, or distract from death. If you think about it, however, death is the only guaranteed part of life.” 

“Not a very uplifting t-topic.” Elliott laughed nervously. He was taken aback by their near-immediate plunge into such a grim discussion. 

“How so? I find it incredibly empowering. Every day I wake up and I ask myself if I am ready. Most days I say yes. If I say no, I change that.” Bloodhound waxed on. Elliott shifted in his chair uncomfortably. 

“Are you ready?” They asked suddenly. 

The question hit Elliott with all the force of a rogue wave. He knew the question was coming, but it still stung. 

“Yeah-ah. I guess. Sure,” he stammered. 

“Not very convincing.” 

“Y’know, I-I really _don’t_ wanna talk about this right now. You may think it’s cool, but I don’t.” He winced and glared at them. 

“Oh— I am very sorry.” Bloodhound blushed. “I understand.” They looked down, chagrined.

“Hey uh, it's fine,” Elliott reassured them in a soft voice. On the inside, however, he was beating himself. _That was way too harsh_ , he thought. He didn’t mean to lash at them, but given the current situation and the stress of being away from his mother, talking about ‘life insurance’ wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his time. Plus, Bloodhound didn’t seem to be able to pick up on hints well either. 

“Do you want to see the snow?” They piped up innocently, pretending to scratch an itch.

“Yeah ‘course.” He smiled. 

Elliott was hyper-aware of the tender way Hound helped him from his chair. They carefully wrapped an arm around his waist and he held onto them for support. Being so close to them, Elliott felt like he couldn’t even breathe. He was keenly aware of the way he reacted to their touch, but it was a thought he didn’t want to deal with right now. 

It felt good to finally stretch his legs, but Elliott was careful not to put too much pressure on his ankle. He convinced Bloodhound to let him hobble to the door by himself and they reluctantly obliged. 

It was totally dark outside. The snow had built up to almost a foot on the ground and it was continuing to fall in a dense flurry. It was a grim reminder that he was stuck here for a while. Bloodhound was hardly a bad roommate though; they were kind, polite and accommodating. They were a good person to be stuck with and Elliott enjoyed their presence, _t_ _o say the least_. 

They were standing very close on his left side. Elliott, for the first time, realized they had a few inches on him. He figured some of the difference had to do with his broken ankle and bad posture though.

The snowfall was hypnotizing and the chill that seeped through the door was exhilarating. Elliott had another intrusive thought— one of him leaning into Hound and them gingerly wrapping an arm around him. Maybe he would say something about how they were beautiful and how they shouldn't wear that ugly mask out all the time. 

This time, he didn’t try to deny it. Instead, he relished the warm feeling in his belly and embraced the fantasy. 

It bred a prickly feeling of languish within him, however. He had no idea where they stood in terms of romance and he eventually figured it was best if the two remained as ‘friends-only-because-of-weird-circumstances’. 

Elliott was so wrapped up in his own internal strife that he didn’t realize the warm hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumped at the feeling. Hound didn’t remove their hand.

“I have been told… that it never snows on Solace.” Their voice was low and honeyed. It was a beautiful symphony and Elliott wished they would just keep talking to him forever. “I think that is terribly… sad. I love the snow. Imagine if you never saw it.” 

“I think snow's a hassle,” He retorted. 

“Aren't all things?” They mused. 

“Ha. Yeah...” 

_Like feelings_

“But it is so beautiful, so I think it’s worth it.” 

Elliott didn’t believe in gods or fate, _but they said that for a reason_ and maybe a _little_ divine intervention was involved. 

He leaned on them. 

“S-sorry, my ankle is just ah— hurting.” He tried hard to fake pain in his voice. 

“That is alright.” They wrapped their right arm around him. “I can get you medication if you need it.” 

“Nah, I’m good...” his voice was small, “th-this is good…”

Elliott watched Hound’s serene reflection in the window.

They watched the snow. 

And the snow continued to fall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos r appreciated <33


	4. Sleeping Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly...this fic is just an excuse to write my favorite trope...
> 
> There’s only one bed!

Dinner was a painfully dry piece of alien meat and mashed potatoes that were more water than potato. Bloodhound was profusely apologetic about the crude nature of the meal and blamed it on their malfunctioning oven. Elliott’s hunger didn’t mind. 

“How much ya think we’re gonna get?” He struggled with cutting the flank. “I mean— how long’s it gonna take to melt? I-I’d like to get home as soon as I can. No offense....” 

Hound stared holes into their plate. “Maybe a meter or so,” they said absently. 

“Shit, really?” Elliott’s chest ached. “Does it always str-storm this bad?”

“Rarely. But that was a... liberal estimate.”

“So, where's the ship? How do we get to it?”

“The ship is not far, only a bit to the north.” 

“Okay, okay,” Elliott wanted to get straight to the point. “How long d’ya think I'm gonna be here?” He didn’t know if he was ready for the answer, but he needed something to hold on to, to help him make it through all of this.  _ Hound  _ wasn’t unbearable, but being trapped in a cabin would be. 

“A couple of days. At least until the snowfall ceases.” Bloodhound winced and met his gaze. “I am terribly sorry, Elliott. I had no idea— I regret bringing you here, but I was unsure of what else to do. There was no place else for me to go. ” 

“Yeah yeah, it's okay.” It was hard for him to be mad at them— and a couple of days wouldn’t be  _ so _ bad.

“Thank you, by the way. I bet any other teammate woulda just left me.” Elliott meant it. He imagined that in the chaos it was ‘every man for himself’— squad etiquette be damned. 

Bloodhound smiled to themself and continued to pick at their meal. 

The silence wasn’t awkward or heavy. Elliott figured the pair would just be roommates for at least a night or two...

A realization jolted through him at the thought of sleep. 

He woke up in Hound’s bed and the cabin was so compact that there wasn’t another place to comfortably sleep. He knew they would offer to sleep on the floor, but he didn’t want that. 

“You can sleep with me tonight,” Elliott blurted awkwardly.  _ Shit.  _ “I-I mean, I don’t want ya sleeping on the f-floor, or something— I know you would, but I'd feel bad. The bed’s pretty big any-anyway, right?” 

“Yes, it should be fine.” They seemed unphased by his stammering. “Only if you wish me too, though.” 

“C’mon now you’re just makin’ it weird.” He deflected and laughed nervously. 

“How? Because you do not want to admit that you wish to sleep next to me?” Elliott was surprised by them making such an impish remark. They grinned at him with a smug expression while resting their chin in a delicate hand.

“No! I just— just don’t want ya s-sleeping on the floor!” A deep flush spread through his cheeks. 

Hound nodded slowly. “I see. Well, just let me know when you want to go sleep with me.” They snickered. Elliott was getting beat at his own game. 

“H-hey! Don’t say it like  _ that _ , geez.” 

“Why? It is true.” Their voice was innocent, but the devilish glint in their eyes betrayed their intention of teasing. 

He chuckled and winked.“You think we’re moving too fast?” 

The pair shared a laugh. 

* * *

“This might be of use,” Hound held up a dusty book as they sorted through several piles on the floor. 

_ Crossing the Fold: The Mechanics of Modern Warp Drives _

“Oh shit, yeah thanks!” Elliott reached and took the book from them. He was sitting on the nice couch-like perch by the window, tucked under a blanket. When he rose from his seat in the kitchen, Hound had fussed like an over-attentive grandmother. In a strange way, they looked the part too— with their bony features, frayed hair and aged eyes. They then insisted on helping him get comfortable by placing a pillow under his left leg.

Bloodhound had a huge collection of books. Several bookcases took up nearly an entire wall of the cabin. In addition to that, there were at least a hundred books stacked up in random places and hiding in drawers. 

“This will also be useful,” Bloodhound couldn’t hide their silly grin. 

_ Midnight Howl _

The cover featured a horribly edited picture of a woman and a shirtless man with wolf ears. 

“I can’t believe you read that shit.” Elliott chuckled. 

“I can’t believe you  _ do not.  _ It is quite entertaining.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And I would be lying if I said I did not like the wolfman.” They blushed and gently set the book aside.

“Geez, you’re such a  _ weirdo.  _ Why am I not surprised? _ ”  _ Elliott taunted.

Hound shot him another crooked grin and continued sorting through their library.

* * *

_Crossing the Fold_ was packed with information that would be vital when Elliott would set out to repair the ship. _But_ _damn,_ it was written in painfully dry language that was typical for most books in its genre. Elliott found himself jumping around the pages and rereading the same line. And he was never an avid reader anyway. His eyes began to blur and his eyelids naturally grew heavy. 

Bloodhound had gotten up and left him a while ago. When they returned, Elliott was nearly asleep. They cleared their throat and he jumped. Their nearly-white hair was stringy and wet. They were wearing a large, plain t-shirt... 

_ And no pants _ . 

Well, they probably had shorts on.  _ But still.  _ Like the rest of their body, their legs were long, toned and...

_ beautiful _ .

Hound cleared their throat again.

“Ah-h sorry… tired,” Elliott blinked slowly. “Are you— are you cold?” He stared at their legs. 

“No. But I am letting you wear my favorite pants.” They tossed their hair with a facetious grin.

Elliott didn’t think much of it, but now he realized that he’d be wearing Hound’s wardrobe for the entire time he stayed with them. The wacky yellow jumpsuit that made up the first layer of his gear was absolutely putrid— stained with sweat, blood, and mud. Thankfully, the two were about the same height, but Bloodhound was significantly thinner and their clothes did feel snug on him.

“Eheh— sorry ‘bout that. Guess we gotta share everything now. I’m just hopin’ these last for a few days.” He tugged at his boxers under the pants. 

Bloodhound winced, clearly made uncomfortable by the thought of exchanging underwear. “Well, no matter. If they do not… I can… share.” 

“Ahah. This is fuckin’ weird. I-I’m sorry.” Elliott was at a loss when it came to a clever quip. The situation was  _ weird—  _ domestic intimacy was going to have its awkward moments, he figured, but with Hound it seemed extra-weird. Elliott couldn’t figure out why. 

“No, no it’s not— but you should probably shower before we go to bed.” Hound swiftly changed the subject. 

“Oh god.  _ Sorry _ . Is it— is it bad?” Personal hygiene had been the last thing on his mind.

“No.” Hound shook their head, but he could tell they were lying to save him from embarrassment. 

“Right. Well y’know, I’ll get work then.” He slowly got up. Bloodhound offered an arm, but he refused. Elliott wanted to show them that he was getting better. 

“Will you be okay on your own?” They asked as he hobbled through the kitchen towards the bathroom. “I do not want you to slip.” 

“Yeah yeah, I'm not that old yet.” 

Hound missed the joke. “It is not about your age, Elliott. I do not want you to lose your balance. And you are not fully healed.” They trailed behind him like a nagging parent.

“I’m g-good! Now can I have some privacy?!” He slipped behind the door and glared at them.

“Of course. I will put new clothes here,” they motioned towards the kitchen counter. 

“‘Kay, thanks!” He abruptly shut the door. 

The bathroom was impossibly cramped like the rest of the place. It somehow managed to arrange a toilet, shower, and sink all in the smallest space Elliott had ever seen. He jumped when he saw himself in the mirror. He looked…

_ rough _ .

_ To say the least.  _

His black eye was probably the most gruesome and the bruise spread down his left cheek. Part of the sclera of that same eye was bright red. He moved his hair back to examine a nasty cut on his forehead. His skin had a sickly tint and his cheeks were hollow. 

Elliott couldn’t take much more and looked away. Hound hadn’t commented once on his busted appearance— he appreciated that. Being rescued like this was already enough of a blow to his ego. His looks being  _ nearly _ ruined was the icing on the shit cake and it only served to make him feel more insecure. Elliott’s new roommate, however, didn’t judge. He figured things could always be worse. 

* * *

A warm shower and change of clothes felt _damn_ _good._ Soreness still clung to his every muscle and Elliott craved a cozy bed. He was proud of being able to make it up the ladder by himself. It was a struggle, but he managed. 

Now he was confronted with Bloodhound looking nice and content in their bed. The sight of them tucked under the quilts, reading by the light of a tiny lamp, was nerve-wracking when it shouldn’t be. Elliott tried to tell himself that this was no different than sleeping next to his brothers while on vacation.  _ Perfectly platonic and normal.  _

Hound didn’t even look up as he collapsed onto the floor-level bed, exhausted. Slowly, he shimmied under the two quilted blankets. He had his own pillow, they had theirs, and there were at least several inches between Hound and himself. 

_ Okay, this is fine. This is good.  _

The bed was more comfortable than Elliott remembered. A silky pillow cradled his tired head. His body sunk into the mattress in the most delicious way. And he felt  _ them—  _ laying on the pillows next to him. Even though the pair weren’t touching, he was acutely aware of their presence. He was  _ hyper-aware  _ of the handsome and lean body that lay beside him. In many ways, it was comforting, lying next to someone. And Hound wasn't just any someone— they were someone who was  _ wildly _ attractive. 

Bloodhound put down their book and reached over, clicking the light off. Elliott lay still on his back, but he could feel them shift around and eventually turn over, facing away from him. They were silent. 

Elliott wanted to say goodnight, or say  _ something.  _ He fought with himself and eventually decided that it would be too late and awkward now. He lay there silently, staring at the supports on the ceiling; his mind was racing.

“ _ Góða nótt, _ ” Hound whispered. 

_ That was ‘good night’ right? Thank god they said it. _

“ _ G’night.” _ He whispered back and smiled a bit. 

Their silky voice always put him at ease. He loved their accent and their language— even if he didn’t recognize it. He loved how thick and warm it sounded without the mask. He loved every damn thing about their voice. He wished Hound would read something to send him to sleep. It was a  _ stupid  _ thought and a few weeks ago it would’ve been terrifying to imagine the fearsome  _ Bloodhound  _ reading him a bedtime story. But now? The thought was nice and weirdly fitting.  _ What would they read? Probably some weird shit like Moby Dick.  _

Elliott drifted asleep thinking of them, bedtime stories, and the days to come.

* * *

Nightmares weren’t uncommon for him. He awoke the next morning with hot tears streaming down his face. Thankfully, he was alone in the foreign bed. Bloodhound must’ve gotten up to get an early start on chores or take a shower.

Elliott rolled over onto his left side and shivered. The terrible vision was a slowly fading memory, but it still haunted him. It was about his brothers,  _ again.  _ The tears were a dead giveaway even if he couldn’t remember the specifics. Shame burned in his chest. Sure, no one was watching, but he still felt embarrassed about crying like a child due to a nightmare. His muscles howled he slowly sat up and tried to forget. 

The lower level was empty but the exotic rug that furnished the majority of the living space had been tossed aside. One large cellar door had been opened, revealing a warmly lit basement that was accessed by stairs. 

Elliott groaned as he leaned down on his knees, peering into the low abyss. 

“Um— ‘Hound?” He called.

His roommate grunted something foreign. They suddenly appeared and grinned. After flipping the light off, they trudged up the concrete steps. 

“Ah,  _ góðan daginn, _ ” Bloodhound winked. 

“Yeah, ‘morning.” Elliott nodded and took their icy hand as they reached down to help him up. “What’s down there?”

“Nothing of interest.” They shrugged and gently closed the cellar door. Elliott already knew they were lying. Given their participation in the Games and their affinity for hunting, Hound  _ had  _ to have a stash of high-caliber arms somewhere— and keeping such arms outside would be unwise. He could only imagine what else was in the cellar. 

“Really? No kinky sex dungeon?” He snorted at the thought of his own stupid comment. 

“Do I strike you as a deviant?” Bloodhound blinked and wore their naturally blank expression. 

“ _ Ehhh _ , a little bit.” He was half-joking. Still groggy and coming off of what was probably ten hours of sleep, his filter was gone— yet for a moment he wondered if his stupid comments offended them. 

They shot him a quizzical look. “Hm. I am not… really.” 

“So, there is a sex dungeon.”

“Do you think I have many, erm,  _ guests?  _ What function would such a lair serve if I am living in solitude?” They mused nonchalantly. 

It was a good point and their isolated nature did pique Elliott’s curiosity. His monkey brain wandered— he debated with himself as to whether or not Bloodhound was a virgin. 

“Good point. But hey, I don’t know what kind of freak you are.” 

“I am no freak.” They chuckled. “...And I suppose that is what freaks say.” 

“Exactly.” He taunted and sat down and the quaint kitchen table.

Hound sighed dramatically as they readied the stove. “And how did you sleep?” 

“Pretty good...” Elliott stared out the kitchen window. The snow had stopped thankfully, but a vast abyss of white lay beyond the confines of the cozy abode. 

“Good.” 

His companion was already preparing a little breakfast. They were certainly very thoughtful and hospitable. Elliott took the moment to admire them humming and cooking. Silky hair was tied back and a cozy flannel fit their shoulders nicely. He smiled and swooned and didn’t pay any mind to the ‘warm fuzzies’. Sure, he was stuck for a few days, but the mere presence of his unlikely companion would make it enjoyable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOwo I can't believe it took me a decade to update!! 
> 
> Bad joke sorry lol
> 
> Regardless, I apologize! I have this entire fic fleshed out and I just need to stitch it together, so updates will be more frequent! Thank you for all the hits, kudos, and comments! I promise I read and love every comment, even if I don't respond.
> 
> Also pleassssse lmk if there are any pronoun errors, especially the use of 'themselves' in reference to BH. I went back and corrected some errors but I probably missed some too. Grammarly is a bitch :(


	5. Stop the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand holding,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so late and I have nothing to say for myself. All I have is the promise of fluff, drama and angst coming in the next few chapters. Pwease forgive 👉👈🥺
> 
> Anyway I was also waiting for the short to drop before I continued with this fic. AND HOLY SHIT. I cried honestly lol. I’ve been a Bloodhound main since day one and it was so amazing finally getting some appreciation for the character. TTwTT  
> I’m not gonna go back and change anything in the previous chapters. Generally, I think this fic still fits the current canon. I’m definitely gonna add some new headcanons that I have doe!! Cuz gee I have a lot, that short left me with more questions than answers honestly lol  
> Anyway please talk to me ab babiehound I’m lonely and bored

The day was monotonous, naturally. Elliott had measured the snow from the sliding glass door— it was higher than his waist. Hound had attempted to pry the door open, but to no avail. The latches were frosted and brittle and the pressure from the enormous amount of snow made moving the door impossible. 

Whenever Elliott was bored, he stressed. He asked his host if the pair would have enough food— and then made a crude joke about cannibalism. They assured him that they had enough and extra stores were in the cellar. _’Oh good, I didn’t want to have to fry the bird‘_ — that statement earned him a stern look of disapproval. 

And focusing on reading was impossible. Elliott always had attention issues, but his current predicament made them _infinitely_ more significant. Thankfully, Bloodhound was rather cheery and willing to make all kinds of conversation. He learned a little bit more about them, like the fact that they knew _nothing_ about pop culture— outside of the Games. _The Games._ The pair discussed and speculated about their future for a while. ‘ _D’ya think they’ll build a new arena?’ ‘Maybe.’_

A new arena would certainly drum up more views— which had been steadily declining over the past season. However, any match featuring Bloodhound would always spike. They were a fan favorite— even if they didn’t want to be. A champion record-holder shrouded in mystery and surrounded with prestige— with a splash of sex appeal that came with the strange accent. Knowing how popular they were, Elliott wished he faked an accent when he first entered. 

He asked them about their _character—_ about their _brand—_ about the Bloodhound that fought in the ring since the one sitting with him was so radically different. 

They said part of it was for flair and show. After all, an entertaining performance was expected of Legends, regardless of if they were being genuine. Bloodhound believed in _most_ everything they said. Their faith was deeply important to them and they mentioned a ‘ _debt that must be repaid’_. Elliott asked what they meant exactly, but Hound brushed it off. 

For the first time, he noticed two small, framed pictures that sat on the window sill— the only pictures in the house. One was a sepia-toned portrait— an older, bearded man wearing a rather unpleasant expression. The second was a bubbly, young couple— a torn piece from a larger photo. The pictures were faded and almost ancient-looking. They were ragged around the edges and white creases ran across the photos. Hound had managed to avoid any conversation regarding their past, so Elliott didn’t want to pry, but the pictures did interest him. 

The person who sat at the tiny table, scribbling in a journal and sipping cinnamon tea had a life just as complex as Elliott’s— a life filled with a variety of characters and tragedies. This revelation, and it’s deep sonder, came as unexpected to Elliott. Bloodhound had made it seem as if they were merely a character— a lone hermit with no personal past or connections, going so far as to refuse to give him their real name. 

If they had a family, relatives at least, why did they live alone out here like this? 

“Can I ask you something?” He gently placed the picture back on the sill.

“Yes.”

“Why do you erm, live out here? Do you just not like people or…” Elliott trailed off, lost in his own speculations. 

“Hm.” Hound fidgeted with their pen. “I suppose… I could never adjust.” 

“To— modern life?” 

“Something like that.” They hummed and returned to the page. 

Elliott decided not to push any further. Their answer was enough on its own. _I could never adjust to modern life._ Being raised by wolves, literally, didn’t seem like an impossibility when it came to Hound’s past. Maybe they really were a feral child or a colony slave— deprived of modern luxuries for so long. 

Regardless, that information would probably never be revealed to him. _That_ was something unfamiliar to him— Elliott was always in the know, but Hound had completely closed themself off. It wasn’t out of malcontent, though; they were simply just a private person. _But he couldn’t get enough of them._ He wanted to know _everything_ — because they were just so damn endearing, _he couldn’t get enough._

* * *

There was honestly nothing else to do other than eat, sleep, shit or talk to Bloodhound. It was starting to bother him. So to avoid getting too restless, he threw himself into the books. Elliott couldn’t remember the last time he sat down and actually reada real, physical book, for more than five minutes. Hound brought him several stacks along with another quilt. They had a vast collection ranging from classic literature to historical and scientific texts. When he got bored of reading _Crossing the Fold: The Mechanics of Modern Warp Drives,_ he picked up _The Ultimate Birder’s Guide to Northern Gaea_ and flipped through the glossy pages littered with photos of strange birds. Elliott was trying to find Artur, but none of the pages featured silky black birds with large beaks (and bad attitudes).

Hound was sitting on the bed as well and was totally entranced with their own reading. Artur sat perched on the window sill, looking out at the white abyss longingly. 

“So where’s he from?” Elliott asked motioning to the bird. Bloodhound looked up and blinked, confused. “The bird. Where’d ya get him?” 

“Oh.” They placed their tome down gently. Elliott couldn’t read the language featured on the cover. They mumbled an answer but he couldn't hear. 

“Huh?” 

“ _Talos_.” Hound could barely say the word; it was as if they were afraid to tell him. 

“Talos? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it. That where you’re from?” He already suspected that was the case, given their strange reaction. 

“Mhm.” Bloodhound nodded and picked their book back up, looking annoyed. 

Elliott got the hint, but his curiosity was killing him. “Cool… cool… Did’ja like it there?” 

“It was fine.” 

“Right.” He made a mental note to look up ‘Talos’ as soon as he got access to the internet. A million questions about Hound’s past raced through Elliott’s mind and they noticed him biting his lip.

“Something troubling you?” They asked. 

“Nah. It’s just, it’s just…” Elliott had no idea how to phrase his questions, let alone where to even start. “Nothing.” He finally settled. 

“If it is about my homeworld, I do not wish to speak of it. I’m sorry.” Hound looked a little pissed. The expression was unfamiliar on them.

“No, I-I get it. Trust me. It’s just— ” 

“Just what?” They glared at him. Elliott froze under the sudden pressure. Their stare really could kill.

“Well, I just— don’t know anything ‘bout you.” 

“You know enough about me.” 

“No, I really _don’t.”_ Elliott felt emboldened like a defiant child. He was just as annoyed as they were. 

“I do not know much about you either.” Hound peered down at him over their long nose. 

“We should change that then. I wanna get to know you more. I’m just t-tryna make conversation. You don’t have to be so damn _defensive._ ”

“I am _not_ defensive.” 

“Yeah! You are!” Elliott let out an exasperated laugh. 

Bloodhound folded their arms and sat back. “Fine. What is your point?”

“What are you hiding?” 

“I am not hiding anything. You have no right to know what I do not want to tell you.” 

Elliott felt guilty. _Yeah, they were right._ But his intentions were innocent. He just wanted to _know_ them. _Am I not good enough for them? Why don’t they trust me?_ Insecurity began to leak into the edges of his thoughts. He had been let in on every other part of their life— how could a little family history or childhood stories be any different? 

“Yeah, yeah ok, I’ll drop it. Whatever.” He tossed his hands up in defeat and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, you will.” They snarled back almost immediately.

“ _God,_ what is your problem? I’m not attacking you or anything.” 

“You clearly are not used to being told _no._ I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t want to speak about my past. That’s it,” they hissed. 

Elliott was offended by the accusation. “Clearly _you_ are not used to talking to people.”

Bloodhound didn’t respond; they just gave him a cold glare— icy eyes glinting through a furrowed brow. Elliott folded his arms in an exaggerated motion and mocked them. The pair continued the staring contest until Elliott realized Hound wasn’t gonna give up. They weren’t the kind of person to enter a battle of wills with. 

“Whatever. I’m tired.” He tossed his head. 

Wordlessly, Hound rose to their feet and went downstairs. It only took seconds for Elliott to begin to chastise himself. His insecurities ran rampant when he was left alone. _Did you offend them? You should’ve just dropped it. God, you are so fucking dumb._

* * *

Bloodhound was, unsurprisingly, a proficient user of the silent treatment. It had been an hour since the two had spoken. The pair would inevitably pass by each other, but neither would say a word. Elliott couldn’t do much other than read or futz with his gear— both activities lasted for about ten minutes. Now, he had resigned to sitting with his arms folded on the nook by the window. Hound didn’t seem to notice him scowling at them. _How dare they._ Elliott was now pissed at Hound. Ignoring him like this was getting to be unnecessary. He wanted to apologize to them, but only after they apologized to him first. 

Elliott glared as he watched them prepare tea and unwrap little biscuits they picked from the pantry. Hound sat down with their snack and mug at the table. They met his gaze.

“Sit.” They pointed to the stool that sat on the other side of the tiny table.

“No. I’m sitting here just fine.”

“You are obviously not fine. Now sit.” Bloodhound jabbed their finger at the stool again.

Elliott didn’t have the will to reject them again. With a sigh, he slowly got up and joined them at the table. He settled onto the stool and Hound offered a biscuit— a metaphorical olive branch. Elliott thanked them quietly and carefully met their gaze. 

“Will you stop being mad at me?” he pleaded. 

“Maybe.” They smirked. “I was really never mad to begin with.”

“Then why’d you give me the cold shoulder for so damn long?” Elliott said through a mouthful of cookie.

“I was just thinking about… things.” Hound took a sip from the mug. 

“What _things_?” 

They narrowed their eyes and studied him. “ _Things_.”

“Oh yeah, thing-things. I get it.” Elliott didn’t mean to be so snarky, but he couldn’t help it.

“Mhm.” Bloodhound nodded and continued to sip their tea. 

“Right. Well I’m sorry ‘bout earlier. I didn’t mean to push you or make you feel uh, pressured to talk. I was just fur-fur-fr—upset ‘cuz I didn’t mean any harm and I felt like you were— really mad at me, or something. ” 

Hound carefully set their mug down. “I understand. I am not mad, I promise. You know…” they continued, “I have lost a great deal in my life.” They avoided Elliott’s eyes to stare into their drink vacantly. “I’m sure you can understand that I just… want to move on.” 

The somber aura that surrounded them was familiar to Elliott. It was the kind of pain, the kind of mourning, that never goes away. Hound lost someone— a family member most likely. Elliott remembered the pictures and wanted nothing more than to hug them. He wanted to tell them it was gonna be okay— even though Hound seemed like they didn’t need the consolation, he still wanted to be there for them.

“I-I-I, um, know a little about that.” 

“Then I am sorry.” They reached out to hold his right hand and closed their eyes.

It was a different kind of intimacy. It wasn’t like sleeping next to them or brushing against their leg as the two sat together. It was intentional— an intimacy born out of mutual understanding and comfort . Elliott wanted to hold their other hand, then hold their whole body in his arms. As his cheeks began to warm up, he quickly dismissed the thought…

But he couldn’t help running his thumb along the faded, raised scars that ran up their fingers. 

“W-well don’t worry ‘bout it. I-I’m over it now. Just gotta move on…” he trailed off. 

“Hm. I think you are lying.” Bloodhound turned to him, face contorted into an expression of sympathy and pain. 

“And what makes you think so?” 

“Because… you never truly ‘move on’,” they mused and squeezed his hand gently. 

“Yeah well…” 

“I know about your brothers.” 

He wasn’t surprised. The media blasted everything about the Legends they could find. Anything was a juicy scoop, even if gossiping about such information was in bad taste— Elliott suddenly felt _mad._ Bloodhound had no right to speak about his brothers, or assume that he was okay with them bringing it up just because the information was public. 

“I don’t wanna _talk_ about it,” he snapped and glared at them with passive fury. 

“Oh.” They blinked. “I apologize. I suppose it was presumptuous of me... to mention them.” 

Despite Hound’s naively dense nature, they could be quite intuitive when it came to emotionally-charged moments. Elliott felt a bit bad about snapping so quickly at them… again. They looked away, deep in thought. 

“It's… fine,” he mumbled. Elliott suddenly became aware of how long he was clutching their hand. His ears began to burn. It would be awkward to take his hand away now. “Um…” 

“Hm?” Bloodhound turned back towards him and seemed to have totally forgotten about the hand holding on the table. 

“Uh.” Elliott slowly lifted his hand from theirs. 

“Oh! _Sorry_.” They grinned sheepishly. The tiniest tint of a blush warmed their scarred cheeks. 

“S’alright.” He grinned back. A stupid grin— like a smitten schoolboy. 

“Hungry?” They asked suddenly, very eager to change the subject. 

The pair agreed on an early dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. All kudos and comments are super appreciated, as always :) Stay safe <3<3<3<3
> 
> Im gonna go rewatch the houndie short now.


	6. Its Just What Friends Do… Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously,,, thank you for almost 100 kudos and all of the support. Even if ur just reading, i appreciate that so much !! 
> 
> Anyway, this was one of the first blurbs I ever wrote for this fic and Lulu totally called it. I’m a slave to fluffy cliches ;D

As he awoke with a jolt, Elliott immediately realized two things. The first being that he was _freezing_. He was so cold that his body was almost stiff from shivering. His ribs ached painfully from the strain. 

The second realization was that he lied there completely entangled with Bloodhound. Both of them wrapped under the covers and clinging to each others’ meager body heat. They were nuzzled into his chest and he had his right arm draped over them. Their fuzzy legs were entwined with his. 

The sudden physical intimacy made Elliott’s heart begin to pound. Naturally, his breath would be heavy from panic, but he struggled against himself to suppress it— not wanting to rouse them. His helpless state only made the panic worse. His companion, however, lay perfectly still. Under his arm, their chest would rise and fall to the rhythm of gentle slumber. As they sighed, a gentle wheeze slipped out of their throat— like a purring kitten. For a moment, Elliott wished he could see Hound properly so he could watch their tranquil expression. _Was_ _that creepy_? Maybe, but he couldn’t help wanting to steal every glance at them he could get. 

_They were so close_. 

His muscles tensed when he thought about playing with their hair. _Would they even notice? We’re they still asleep?_

He got his answer when a groggy voice croaked, ‘ _Kalt’_.

A needy hand grabbed at his shirt and eventually settled on his chest _right above his heart._ Hound pressed into him more, shivering slightly.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. FUCK. Shit_

There was _no_ way they didn’t feel his pounding heart or notice his panicked state.

“ _Góðan daginn,”_ they announced unceremoniously. Hound shifted a bit, but didn’t look up.

Elliott’s head was spinning. At this point all he wanted was to just move. _Fuck it, screw it_ he thought. It was in his nature to resort to humor and deflection. That way, nobody could ever tell what he truly felt.

“ _Good mornin’ love,_ ” Elliott cooed.

Hound immediately tore themself out of his arms and sat up. The morning light from behind them illuminated their frazzled hair. Elliott thought they looked like a wild angel who had come to earth— and was having an affair with him.

“What are you doing?!” Bloodhound choked, wide-eyed. “What are you thinking?!” 

Elliott let out a hearty laugh. “ _What?_ Don’t remember what we did last night?” He propped his head up by his elbow— giving them the most evil grin.

“We did not _do_ anything last night!” They yelped, sincerely confused. 

Elliott thoroughly enjoyed messing with them. Their unassuming nature made it just too easy. 

“Oh _baby.”_ He clutched his heart. “Ya don’t remember? I thought I mattered more to you! You told me I’m not like those other girls!” 

Bloodhound’s face was the deepest shade of red Elliott had ever seen. All this talk of midnight affairs made them absolutely light up with embarrassment. 

“Stop it!!” They cried. With a quick motion, they hit him on the shoulder. _The right one._ A sharp spike of pain erupted and flared throughout his chest. 

“Ah— _fuck!_ The hell’s wrong with you?” 

“I’m so sorry!” Hound clasped their hands over their mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine.” Elliott winced. “You only _shattered_ it, b-but it’ll grow back, don't worry.”

“Oh no!” They crawled over him, towards his right side.“Lie flat so I can examine it.” 

“H-hey I was—I was just joking.”

“Lie down.” They demanded and he obliged. They laid delicate hands on his shoulder, feeling all along from the collarbone to joint.

“Does it hurt?” Hound applied the lightest pressure on the junction between the bones.

“Only a lil bit.” He winced through gritted teeth, lying. It hurt a _lot._

“I’m so sorry Elliott.” Bloodhound now rested their cold hands on his arm. He relished the physical affection from them. “I should not have hit you— seeing as you are still healing” 

“Hey, hey it’s alright. I’d hit myself too.” He smiled up at them. 

“That is no excuse.”

“C’mon, ya don’t need to pull your teeth out over it. It's no biggie. I don’t care.”

“I do.” Their voice cracked. “I do not want to hurt you.” 

Elliott felt awful as he studied Hound’s sullen expression . _Why do they care so damn much about me?_ Their near constant fussing didn’t go unnoticed by him. In fact, it bothered him a bit. He was convinced he was totally undeserving of their care and attention— _even if he savored every minute of it._

He placed his hand on theirs. “You didn’t hurt me. It don’t even hurt now, look.” He wiggled his shoulder around. “See?” 

They sniffed. “Okay. _Góður_ .” 

“We should probably do something about the heat uh— issue.” 

“Ah. Yes that would be the radiator. It goes out...occasionally” they shrugged. “I will go check on it. Would you like me to bring you something?”

“I can get up, y’know.”

“Maybe you should just rest your shoulder. And your ankle…”

Elliott knew that his injuries were nearly healed— Bloodhound knew that too. He figured they were just using it as an excuse to nurse him like a mother hen.

“Ugh. Whatever you say, mom.” He was just joking, but the thought of his mother made his heart sting. “What was that all about— by the way?”

Hound shot him a quizzical look. “Hm?” 

“The uhm, y’know, snuggling.”

“We were not _snuggling.”_

_Oh shit….Wait what?_

“Wait, what?” 

“Unless you’d wish to _snuggle_.” Hound flashed their crooked teeth at him in a coy expression. 

“No! What!? No— I just, I dunno, I didn’t know what else to call it! _Geez_.” Elliott was hyper-aware of the hot blush that coated his face.

“Ah. I would call it _huddling for warmth.”_

“Right! Yeah ‘c-course! F-friends do that…a lot... platonically. All the time. Yup.” 

“Yup!” They snickered, seemingly amused by the word itself. In a playful motion, they leaned down until their face was only inches from his. “The radiator will take a moment to warm up. We can _huddle for warmth_ until then.” 

Bloodhound was obviously flirting with him in their own weird way. _Or were they?_ Elliott found it incredibly hard to read the most basic of innuendos when he was with them. It was as if his flirt radar was totally jammed. Hound’s innocent charm fried all the sensors and blew up all the gauges. 

“Wait, seriously?” He tried to play it cool, but then quickly realized how dumb he sounded.

“If you would _like_.” They taunted. It was a basic flirting tactic. Deflect, then get the other party to either be flustered or admit defeat. Two could play at this game. 

“Uh _huh_ . Well I’m startin’ to think _you_ want to. Given how much your suggestin’ it.” He smirked.

Hound’s eyes grew wide and they sat back. “Nope!” They giggled. “No offense, but you stink.” 

Elliott’s heart stopped and he checked his left pit. He showered last night and he was perfectly clean.“Oh shut the _hell_ up!” He had to laugh, they got him. “I think you're just smellin’ yourself.” 

“Mhm, yup!” They mocked him with the childish way they chirped ‘yup’ and then disappeared down the ladder. 

* * *

“Have you ever seen ravens play in the snow?” 

As Elliott sat at the kitchen table, Bloodhound had managed to pry a window open and was currently working on awkwardly shoveling the snow away with a plate. Their fat bird watched expectantly, eagerly awaiting its foray into the icy wonderland. 

“Can’t say I have. Do they...really do that?” He couldn't help grinning— it was an entertaining thought. 

“Oh, yes. They are one of the few creatures that play independently.” They paused their shoveling and gave the bird a light scratch on the head. Artur cooed and croaked happily. 

“You two seem like good friends.” 

“We are. I suppose we grew up together.” 

There it was again. _Bloodhounds past_. Elliott filed that tiny nugget of information away with the other little things he knew about his strange roommate. The picture was slowly looking clearer. 

“That's one old ass bird, then,” he jested. 

“Hey!” they turned to him and frowned playfully. “Are you implying that I am… an _old ass?”_

Elliott couldn't help but chuckle a bit. “So what if I am? What’areya gonna do about it? ” He winked facetiously. 

“I would cry. Because that is a very rude thing to say.” 

The pair giggled. Eventually, Hound returned to digging Elliott returned to marking up a warp drive diagram. 

“ _Fljúga núna,_ ” Bloodhound murmured as they finally cracked the window open fully. Artur gave a thankful squawk and hopped out. 

“Howzit look out there?” Elliott was eager to fly the coop too. 

“Worse. I believe there was another storm when we were asleep.” 

“Oh right, when we were snuggling.” He teased lightly, wanting to draw another reaction out of them simply out of boredom. 

“We were not…. oh, never mind. If you are so insistent on calling it that… so be it.” 

“Yeah and when I get out of here, I’m gonna tell everyone that you slept with me.” Elliott couldn’t decide if he was being serious or not. He was bored, though, and just wanted to pester his roommate any way he could. 

Bloodhound turned to him, wide-eyed. “Please don’t,” they said in a meek voice. 

“I mean, it’s technically the truth.” He wiggled an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps... Many would interpret it as a romantic affair, though.” 

“Would that be such a bad thing? I mean- it would certainly make the Games a lot more popular— it would also be— kinda hilarious.” 

“I think you and I have very different definitions of ‘hilarious’.” 

“Oh come on. We’d certainly give all those damn reporters a run for their money. And are we _not_ the weirdest, most unlikely couple?” He smirked. 

Hound looked slightly more amused now. “Weird? Yes. Unlikely? Maybe not so.” 

“Ohhohoh! I didn’t know you felt like _that_!” Elliott was rather surprised by their response. He felt like they were flirting, but then again, it was incredibly hard for him to tell. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” They scowled playfully. “All this talk of couples...I don’t like it.” They waved a hand dismissively. 

“Fine. Fine. We can just talk about the snuggling then.” He snarked. 

“You are lucky that we are not in the ring. If we were, I would have an excuse to cut out your tongue.” 

“Ooh _freaky_. I like that.” 

“You’re unbearable. Do not speak to me.” Bloodhound let out an exasperated sigh and gestured for him to shut up. Their little smirk didn’t go unnoticed by Elliott, however. He knew they secretly enjoyed his antics. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil chapter to satisfy ur fluff and banter cravings. Next one is gon be a spicy and long so get ready ;)
> 
> thanks for reading, as always. Stay safe <3333


	7. Cabin Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage wakes up horny and goes to bed slightly less horny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is the reason I derived the mature rating lol. Nothing is super explicit tho, just implied  
> We will return to your regularly scheduled program of wholesome at 8

_The dream was terrible— despicable even. Elliott woke and remembered fragments of it. He pieced them together as he lazily rolled over. He wanted, desperately, to hide from his roommate._

_It was awful. He was awful._

_But it felt so damn good._

_Obviously, Elliott felt guilty about developing such a sudden, less-than-appropriate, interest in Hound. They nursed him back to health. They helped him. They opened their home up to him. They were an angel to him and by all accounts they seemed like a very innocent—and quite frankly— prude person._

_That’s what made it so terrible to him. They were just a friend— a roommate— not someone to be the subject of sexual infatuation._

_The cause of all this, Elliott figured, was their incredibly close quarters and the fact that any physical boundaries between the two had been broken long ago. The pair accidentally ‘snuggled’, held hands and were so close to each other all the time. There wasn’t a single moment in which the pair were further than ten feet from each other._

_The dream._

_Oh, but it was so sweet._

_It was amazing how his mind could conjure up sensations with such accuracy that they felt real._

_In the dream, the two were lying together in the bed of his very first apartment. A little nonsensical, but that’s how all dreams were. Hound was eager with him. The feeling of their cold hands fanned across his naked chest was a memory that was hard to dismiss. It was only sweetened by the image of them looking down at him, innocently, with those big doe eyes framed by thick lashes._

_Waves of their unruly hair tickled his chest as they kissed his neck. They were bare too, but Elliott couldn’t entirely see them._

_And then…_

_They went down on him._

_It was the last part of the dream, so naturally, it was the most vivid. He replayed the sequence over and over again. They took him_ so easily— _all the way down to the base— then back up again with the help of an experienced hand. He wondered if his fantasy was true to life._

_For several minutes he lay there, desperately clawing at the fragments of the experience as it naturally slipped away._

He was alone at least. 

Bloodhound woke up earlier than him to avoid another ‘snuggling’ kerfuffle. They had to be in the kitchen somewhere— which made it impossible for him to get to the shower without them noticing his body’s excited state. 

_Damn._

For a moment he considered just telling them. Being honest about the fact that he needed to take a shower to cool off. Hound was hardly the judgmental type. They would understand that it was natural and wasn’t indicative of his feelings towards them, _right?_

The nature of the cabin provided little privacy. It was clearly designed for just one weird person and their bird. 

Elliott listened to Hound move around in the kitchen below him. It would be absolutely mortifying if they saw him like… this.

_I could just…_

_No._

He briefly thought about relieving himself, quickly, in the privacy of the bed. He needed to, _badly._ Ever since he woke up in the cabin, he was pent up— and the tension of living so intimately with someone he was attracted to was only building. If he just got it over with now, they wouldn’t see him and he’d be saved from the embarrassment. But that would be _awful._ Tired of fighting with himself, Elliott got up. He figured he could just try to sneak behind them to get to the bathroom. 

Hound was busy rinsing off plates and watching the rusty toaster expectantly. Slowly, he crept past them. As Elliott grabbed the handle of the bathroom door, relief flooded over him. 

“ _Góðan daginn_ ,” they chimed. 

“Yeah-ah, ‘morning.” He remained turned away as he opened the door. 

“Did you sleep well?” Bloodhound was nice and all, but their unwavering insistence on pleasantries was annoying as _hell_ sometimes. 

“Uh huh! Yup!” Elliott jumped behind the door quickly and closed it even quicker. He didn’t want to give them the chance to ask any more questions. 

He tore the clothes off and turned on the water. It was warm. Honestly, a cold shower didn’t sound so great right now. Elliott figured he’d take advantage of what little privacy he had. 

Warm water ran down his back, easing his shoulders and soaking his hair. He leaned on the tiled wall and palmed himself automatically. He wanted to get the whole ordeal over with as soon as he could— mostly out of shame. The smutty thoughts about Hound invaded his mind and refused to leave, no matter how many times he told himself he was a terrible person for lusting after them. 

_But he couldn’t help it._ Elliott had to face the fact that he was _very_ attracted to them. Honestly, he was a bit surprised that he was in the first place. He regarded himself as an entirely straight man, but _if_ the thought of being with Bloodhound excited him, then he _wasn't_ straight. He couldn't be. They weren’t a woman after all. That’s not what bothered him. He understood their preferences and didn’t feel compelled to ask them about it. 

What bothered him was the situation the two found themselves in. A week ago Hound was barely a coworker. Now? They meant nearly everything... 

And they were totally oblivious to his feelings or desires. 

But he knew that it was natural, and probably normal, given the situation. Two humans, friendly and new to each other, trapped in such a tiny space oftentimes led to one very specific thing. 

He couldn't take a break from them. He couldn’t go out for a run or go to the bar— he was subjected to a constant and near lethal dose of Hound’s quirky brand of _adorableness_. He was snowed in and stuck in their charming little cabin where everything was a bit crooked and rusty. The tiny getaway, that smelled of spice and pine and was filled to the brim with stacks of worn books.

They weren’t scary or sinister like so many speculated. They were kind, honest and a little bit of a ditz— and _beautiful_ in a very unique and refreshing way. Elliott figured most people would fall fast for them too. 

A pang of jealousy nagged at his chest. 

_He_ wanted Hound. _They_ should be _his_. The thought of them with someone else was heartbreaking. It felt almost unnatural to imagine them with anyone other than himself. Their isolated nature worked to Elliott’s advantage, but he knew sooner or later, that if he really wanted them, he would have to make a move. It was only fair. 

Elliott nearly had forgotten about his task. With reluctance and indignity, he evoked the fantasy about his unsuspecting companion again. He imagined all the sweet things they’d say. He imagined their gentle touch. He imagined their pretty lips wrapped around his—

It made his skin crawl and he knew it would be awkward facing them again, but _damn_ if it didn’t do the trick.

* * *

The day had passed and Elliott felt like every fiber of his being was going to explode from the sexual tension. At mid-morning, he stole glances at them over his book. Occasionally, they would catch him, only to smile back warmly. At lunch, the pair arm-wrestled and Bloodhound had won despite being on the scrawnier side; their strength was a little more than just exciting. In the evening, he stared at their ass as they made soup for dinner. It was a bit creepy, but he excused it given the way they stared at _his_ bare chest when he changed. 

Now the two sat upstairs small-talking about nothing in-particular. Bloodhound had changed for bed— into tight pants and a ridiculously loose-fitting tank top. With nothing underneath, if Elliott caught them at the right angle, he could steal a glimpse of their chest. He swore they were teasing him. They dressed very lightly at home— a stark contrast to the layers of gear that they dawned for the Games. So, Elliott ogled at every sliver of skin they flashed; he felt like he was being let in on a very exclusive secret. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Hm, maybe.” Hound put out the candle sitting on the window sill and crawled onto the bed with a smirk. 

“Well, I dunno. I was just wondering what your whole deal is with the um, mask and stuff. I mean— it is a-a _little_ weird and no one knows what you look like.

Hound shrugged. “I built my gear. I want to use it. And… In many ways, I need it. I also...just don’t want to be famous,” they mused nonchalantly and waved a hand.

“What really? Th-that’s it? You're not like, uh, a war criminal or something?” 

“Do I look like a war criminal?” They scoffed. 

“Well I dunno! That's just the shit people make up! B-but seriously. There’s no other reason?” 

“There is no other reason. I enjoy the hunt and the Games are the ultimate test of skill, but I am not the type to be very... _extroverted_.” 

“Yeah.” Elliott chuckled. “I get the appeal of wanting to, like, stay out of the public eye and all. For the record though, you look— ” he paused not knowing how to phrase the compliment. He realized he couldn’t just say _beautiful. Even if he wanted to_. 

“Look what?” A tiny grin hugged Hound’s lips and they cocked their head. They were being coy— knowing exactly what he was going to say. 

“Um, good. You look good. Yup.” Elliott gave them an awkward smile and nodded. 

“Thank you.” They delicately tucked a strand of hair behind their ear. 

_Why did they have to do that?_

It was such an innocent little expression, but it sent his heart racing. _Dammit._

“Actually uh, more than that— you look, um, beautiful.” Elliott choked on the words. He felt oddly compelled to tell them, awkward or not.

Hound’s eyes grew large and their cheeks flushed scarlet. “Th-thank you again.” They chuckled nervously. “ I don’t believe anyone has ever said that to me before.” 

“W-well, it’s not like you show your face off to everyone. I’m sure a lot more people would let you know.” 

“I am... not so sure.” They shrugged and touched the formation of scarring that ran along the contours of their face. 

“Seriously? And hey, scars aren’t bad. They add sex appeal.” He winked and tapped the scar on his nose. 

“Ah, I see. However, I hardly think I am the part.” 

“No I—” Elliott quickly realized that unintentionally or not, they were almost making him admit he thought they were sexy. 

“Hm?” They blinked curiously. 

“Well, you just… you look good, okay? Those scars don’t take that away.” 

“I suppose I could say the same for you.” 

Elliott thought he had misheard their response. He was completely and utterly shocked by the fact that they just admitted they found him attractive. Sure, he put on an air of false bravado, especially when it regarded his looks, but hearing _that_ from _Bloodhound_ was a high he had never experienced. A moment ago, he was certain they had no interest in him. 

Now? Well, maybe...

He wanted desperately to say something, anything, but internal panic sealed his lips shut. Thick silence hung in the air. His companion stared back awkwardly with an expression akin to regret. They had taken a risk and it was clear they weren’t the type who was used to flirting. Their eyes flitted to the right for a moment, then met his again.

“Well.” Hound cleared their throat, “Time for bed.” 

“No. Wait.” Elliott, on instinct, reached out and placed his hand on theirs.

In that moment, everything was pushed to the periphery. Nothing else mattered to Elliott other than Hound’s perfect face and the way they studied him through their shaggy mess of hair. A light flush warmed their cheeks. Their hand slowly wrapped around his in a show of cautious affection. It was the first time he realized how rough it felt, covered in cracked, old scars. He didn’t mind, though, every part of them was beautiful. 

They rubbed over his hand with a thumb and smiled gently. 

_What is happening..._

Elliott didn't know, but it felt so natural _._

He didn’t need to say anything— which was a good thing considering not a single coherent fragment was coming out of his brain. Bloodhound wasn’t judging him— they never judged him. All he needed in life— all he wanted in life was _them_ _and…_

 _Their lips—_ looked supple and inviting. Elliott knew exactly what he wanted. He didn’t need to mull over his decision. There was no time to feel anxious or doubtful. He didn’t need to feel that way with Hound at his side. 

Leaning in, Elliott pressed his lips to theirs. 

He knew he was rushing things, by about a thousand miles, but at that moment, kissing felt like the right thing to do. 

Apparently, Bloodhound felt the same as they eagerly returned the kiss.

_They were not a bad kisser. At all._

Surprisingly enough, they were _amazing._ Elliott had a fleeting thought— wondering about where they had gotten the practice, but he pushed it away for now, deciding to just enjoy the spontaneity of the moment. His tongue barely flicked along their upper lip, trying to feel their scars. He broke the kiss, for just a second, to press a loving peck to the place where a bit of scarring connected to their mouth. Bloodhound scrunched their nose and chuckled. They whispered something about how his overgrown beard tickled and he never felt more alive.

He let his hand snake up and caress their neck as the two continued. 

Hound then grabbed his shoulders and pushed into him. In a sudden move, they got up and straddled his hips, not daring to break the kiss. Almost immediately Elliott’s belly was hot and the subtle pressure on his crotch grew. The implication of Hound’s action was obvious. Here the two were, sitting on a bed, making out— it was obvious what would come next. 

He rested a soft hand on Bloodhound’s chest and he reluctantly pulled his mouth away from theirs. They pressed their forehead on his and panted.

“We can’t be doing this,” Elliott croaked, drunk on the feeling of their body. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to sleeping together or just the kissing. He wanted both, but believed they couldn’t _possibly_ feel the same. 

Hound sat back. Their eyes were absolutely crazed with lust. Elliott reached up and pushed choppy hair out of their face. 

“ _Why_ .” Bloodhound’s voice was almost a whisper. They sounded hurt and Elliott immediately felt guilty. He then remembered all the reasons why the two _shouldn’t_ go any farther.

It wasn’t in his nature. He was typically unrestricted when it came to sexual exploits and right now there was nothing he wanted more than to pull his shirt off and see Hound lying naked on their bed for him. He wanted to touch every part of their body, to please them— _no,_ worship them. They deserved it for being so _damn_ good to him. He wanted to stay up all night with his fingers tangled in their hair. They would scream his name and he would moan into their neck. The pair would mate like vicious animals until the first light of dawn. 

_But he couldn’t._

At this point, he didn’t know what to expect in terms of their body— he didn’t care. Whatever form they took, he would love. 

_But he couldn’t._

They were far too good for him. They were totally out of his league. And right now all these feelings of inadequacy were so hard to sift through. Sex would just complicate everything tenfold...

But he couldn’t suppress the flame of desire. He wondered if he was in any other situation would he sleep with them? A part of the pair’s problem was that it was just _too damn easy_ , too easy to succumb to lust. They were both _relatively_ young people— they were attracted to each other and they were in a situation where sex would be more than convenient. Nature encouraged it. How could they _not_? 

“Why,” they begged again. Elliott could feel them lightly grind their hips against his. They were so damn cute and sexy and it _wasn’t_ fair. Right now, he should be pounding them into the mattress— or they should be pounding _him_ into the mattress. Either way, he needed their body. But...

“I just— don’t wanna make it weird, y’know?” 

“How?” 

_Would sex complicate things or would it make things easier?_ Elliott wasn’t ready to say he loved them—not yet _._ But was he ever truly _in love_ with any of his other partners? He wanted them, they wanted him. 

_Would he ever get this kind of chance again?_

He then realized that the current situation made for the _perfect_ chance. He wouldn’t have to commit in any way and he was pretty sure they would agree. And if regret ever bubbled up, the pair could just laugh it off and blame it on the odd circumstances. They were both humans after all, with very human needs.

“Well, we could always just…” Elliott trailed off. 

“Hm?”

“Y’know l-like, friends with benefits…no kissing and no strings attached.” He raised a curious eyebrow. 

Bloodhound looked to the side and stared into vacant space, weighing the options. They appeared anxious, but also excited. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he growled and leaned forward to kiss along their neck. 

“You said you wouldn’t kiss me,” they whispered in a slightly uncomfortable tone. 

Elliott immediately stopped “Oh-oh y-yeah, sorry. Just a habit.” He grinned meekly. Internally, he beat himself for being so careless. The last thing he wanted to do was make them uncomfortable.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that…” they murmured.

“What?”

“The kissing.” 

“R-right. Sorry. I was just being ip-p-impulsive. I-I don’t even know what I was thinking to be honest.” 

“Cabin fever.” Bloodhound snickered with an embarrassed grin. “I apologize as well. That was all a… lapse in judgement.” 

“Y-yeah.”

It was clear they didn’t want things to be romantic— but the physical desire between the pair was still strong. They slowly moved off of his lap and the pair sat in silence for several minutes, both wondering what the other wanted. Both played out the possible scenarios. Both had no idea how to say ‘ _it’._

“Right. Well, uhm, I-I’m probably gonna go to bed.” Elliott cleared his throat. 

Before he could lie down, though, Hound crawled back on top of him— quickly answering his doubts from before. Their hips perched perfectly on his. Their hands moved up his chest and his shirt rode up with them, exposing his torso. “Woah-ah.” He nearly gasped and just grinned awkwardly, surprised by how eager they were being. He didn’t mind of course; this was proof that his desires were mutual. They leaned down, frayed hair tickling his shoulders. 

_It was just like the dream._

“Yes, let us go to bed,” they murmured and pulled back just to wink— 

Every hair on the back of Elliott’s neck stood up. His heart raced.

It was clear they had come to a decision and he certainly wasn’t going to protest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay that’s a wrap ;D 
> 
> You probably hate me for not divulging any true smut; I just feel like it would clash with the tone of this fic. If the demand is high enough, though, I might write a separate one shot about what happened that night ;)


	8. New Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeeeee fluff time. better grab a salty snack cuz the fluff is sickeningly sweet y'all

Elliott had made two promises. 

One: the activities of last night wouldn’t change the strictly platonic friendship he had with Bloodhound. 

Two: he would never speak about last night. Not a single word— to them or anyone else. 

Those promises were easily kept. He was  _ more  _ than just satisfied with the memories. And it was an amazing feeling just to wake up naked next to them. If they didn’t want him to incessantly run his mouth about it, he wouldn’t. 

He’d drag his balls through a thousand miles of fire ants just to have one minute of last night again, though. And as much as he wanted to tell them that— beg them for another round— he wouldn’t. 

This was more than good enough. 

He didn’t like it when they woke up before him and left him lonely. Their mere presence was now comforting in a way he never expected it to be. Carefully, he shifted closer to them and inched a lazy hand up to play with their hair. He didn’t expect them to be awake, so it came as a surprise when Bloodhound reached back to touch his side. Elliott wasn’t sure what they were doing until they moved back and pressed into him with a groan.

It all made sense then and he wrapped an arm around their chest to become the warm, big spoon. Physically, everything was off limits now, except for kissing. That was strictly prohibited as per Hound’s request. He had promised things  _ weren’t _ and  _ wouldn’t _ be romantic— but it took a concentrated effort from Elliott not to nuzzle into their shoulder and pepper kisses. 

Snuggling was still good, romance or not, because at least this time it was entirely intentional.

Time floated by in a peculiar way as Elliott slipped back to the edge of sleep. Every thought, though, he dedicated to his companion. He thought about how perfect their body was. He thought about how amazing last night was. He thought about how they were totally out of his league. He thought about what strange karmic force allowed this all to happen. He speculated about their name and wondered if it would sound good with his surname attached. Then he wondered if they were the type to take a last name in marriage. 

He grinned to himself and didn’t notice Bloodhound shifting until they sat up. Elliott felt an instant chill without them close. With a groan, he opened his eyes only to be met with the beauty of his companion’s naked back as they sat on the edge of the bed. Muscles shaped tan skin, accented by a myriad of scars— some old bullet wounds, others evidence of close encounters with wildlife. He remembered a fleeting moment from last night— where he had absently traced along those scars as Hound had curled up on his chest. 

Elliott didn’t want to get up; he didn’t want this morning to end. He knew it was unlikely, but he hoped they would lie back down and just  _ be  _ with him.

Bloodhound turned and gave him a weak, sleepy smile— morning light filtered through their tangled hair onto their face. He grinned back, but didn’t say a word— that would be breaking his promise. He was supposed to pretend that  _ it _ didn’t happen. 

“‘Morning.” 

“ _ Góðan daginn.”  _ Their tone was hardly above a whisper. Despite their insistence on  _ not _ reliving the past evening’s events, at least they didn’t seem to regret it. They let out a large yawn like a sleepy lion cub. Elliott yawned too and his companion flopped back down on the bed with a sigh. 

He glanced over their naked body once more. They were definitely teasing him by lying there, splayed out over the covers. 

“I’m still tired,” they murmured in a sultry tone. 

“Why don’t I make you breakfast and bring it up here?” He offered, that way, he might be able to steal a few more soft moments with them. 

“Oh, you don’t have too,” they said politely. 

“Yeah, I have to. You’ve done so much for me...” He slipped into a discarded pair of sweatpants

“But the kitchen… will you be able to find your way around?” It was incredibly adorable seeing how concerned they got over the smallest of things.

“I think I can figure it out,” he said with a smile. 

“Oh, okay.” With a bit of reluctance, they gave in. 

* * *

After digging through the wildly unorganized mess that was Hound’s pantry, Elliott came up with a collection of usable ingredients. Pancake mix, applesauce and cinnamon— he knew  _ exactly _ what to make for them. After greasing a pan and setting it on medium heat, he craned to look out the tiny kitchen window. The snow piles seemed a little smaller. Maybe today, the pair could try to break out. 

Elliott jumped out of his skin when a black flurry of feathers landed on the sill. The bird tapped on the glass violently, demanding to be let in. 

“Uhh, your bird wants to-to come in,” he called to Bloodhound awkwardly.

“Just open the window,” they called back. 

Slowly he cracked the window open, terrified of the mangy creature attacking him. Instead, Artur hopped in and graced him with a curt squawk. The bird then quickly waddled across the counter and navigated through the kitchen to go upstairs and greet its friend. 

Elliott was relieved their pet wouldn’t interrupt his culinary art. He searched through the clutter for about a minute until finally finding a mixing bowl and proceeded to make what was hopefully his magnum opus of apple-cinnamon pancakes. 

Eggs, the last carton of milk, powder mix, applesauce, a hefty teaspoon of cinnamon and a drop of vanilla. With a whisk he blended everything together, but not too much. 

The mix made five perfect, golden brown cakes. He finished them off with a sliver of butter. Elliott decided on plating three for Hound and two for himself along with some mini sausages he had found in the tiny fridge. He hoped and  _ prayed  _ that they would enjoy it. He knew they would simply out of politeness, but he wanted to exceed expectations for them. 

Getting the two plates up the tiny ladder proved to be a challenge. Eventually, he managed and slid the plates up on the top floor before crawling up himself. 

“Oh,  _ yndislegt.  _ You really are too kind.” 

In an odd way, he was glad they were still nude, relaxing on the bed with a book. They were obviously quite comfortable with him. From an outside perspective, the pair were married. 

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do— no syrup though.” 

“That’s fine,” Bloodhound murmured and gave him a warm grin. “This is so nice. Thank you.” They took the plate and fork eagerly. 

It had been barely five days and quite an unexpected development. The pair sat quietly, both in various levels of undress, eating pancakes on the bed. Elliott wasn’t mad, this was  _ great _ . Hound didn’t seem to mind either as they didn’t even need the fork, scarfing down the cakes by hand, already on their last one. 

_ And to think, it could all end today.  _

The past few days had been the best unintentional vacation ever. It was going to be hard, leaving them, but Elliott hoped it wouldn’t be forever— he hoped they felt the same. Given the way that they were so comfortable around him, they probably did; but his insecurities said otherwise.

“That was delicious. You are an excellent cook.” Bloodhound set their clean plate on the floor. They said the compliment with such sincerity, it made his heart melt. 

“Th-thanks. Glad you liked it.” He beamed. 

“Oh, I loved it.” 

The couple sat in silence for several more moments. Elliott stole every glance at them he could get until Hound eventually got up and got dressed. He slipped into his barely worn shirt from last night.

“Y’know, maybe we should try to reach the ship today.”

“Ah. Yes we probably should.” 

“I almost don’t want to leave.” Elliott confided in them. “This has been great— you’ve been great. Getting stuck out here… wasn’t a bad thing.” He winked.

They grinned while struggling to brush through their hair. “I’m glad you have enjoyed our time together.” 

“Oh, I would say more than just that.” 

Hound arched a coy eyebrow. “ _ Really?”  _

“I-I-I mean, yeah, I’ve just really enjoyed it here. Urm. It-it’s been nice to just—get a break from the real world y’know? Well, I guess you wouldn’t know…” he trailed off.

“Next time there is word of a blizzard, I’ll be sure to invite you over.” 

_ Score.  _ Now, Elliott had confirmation that he wasn’t the only one who wanted more time together. 

“Sounds fun.” It definitely  _ did  _ sound fun, especially if they were tacitly implying that the pair would enjoy another ‘evening’ together.

* * *

After several failed attempts, the pair finally managed to get the door open. The chill from outside tore through the warmth of the little cabin. Bloodhound insisted on Elliott wrapping up in jackets and multiple scarves as the pair dug through the snow. 

Eventually a tiny pathway was made. He scrambled to get above a giant mound and was able to spot the dark outline of the ship in the distance. Seeing the ship was a bittersweet relief. On one hand, it meant he could finally see his mother and assure her that he  _ didn't  _ die in the accident. On the other hand, he wanted to  _ stay  _ with Bloodhound. He fantasized about living with them. They had quite a knack for keeping him entertained. He figured the pair would need a bigger cabin, as it was a little cramped. It was nice, though— living together. When he was with them, he didn’t need to pretend to be anything other than what he was. Elliott had always wanted to retire to a private, cozy life. It wasn’t hard to imagine doing that with Hound. Their entire personality was private and cozy. 

“Don’t bother with returning the jacket.” His companion piped kindly as he packed up his gear. “You can keep it.” 

“A souvenir for last night, huh?” 

The words slipped out on accident. He forgot to turn off the obnoxious-flirty switch for a moment.

_ Shit.  _

Bloodhound’s expression turned to ice. “We had an  _ agreement,”  _ they snapped 

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Y-yeah I know! I ju-just fro-forgot!” 

“Give me the jacket,” they hissed and shot out a hand like a demanding parent.

“But I’m gonna be cold!” Elliott whined. 

“I don’t care. You broke our promise.” 

“I didn’t! I’m not gonna talk about last night!” 

“You did it again!” They exclaimed, exasperated. 

“Sorry! I-I’m stupid! Okay I’m not talking now.” He clasped his hands over his mouth dramatically. “But can I please keep the jacket?” He then mumbled through his fingers.

“Fine. Only because I pity you.” Bloodhound’s smirk revealed that they weren’t being entirely serious about him breaking the agreement. 

* * *

Hound had one pair of snowshoes meaning getting to the dropship was going to be a task Elliott would have weather on his own. It took about fifteen minutes to reach it and then ten more to get inside. By the time he made it inside, he was nearly frozen. Thankfully, he brought a heating lamp along with his gear, a walkie talkie and  _ Crossing the Fold.  _ As soon as he could, he radioed to Bloodhound to let them know he made it. They were oddly congratulatory and gave him a push of encouragement, insisting that he could fix the busted drive. 

He was going to miss them.  _ Terribly.  _ In fact, he already was missing them so much that he couldn’t focus on the task at hand. He checked panels and modules repeatedly because every bit of his mind was preoccupied by the thought of them. 

Several hours had passed and it was already getting dark. Eventually he traced the problem to the neutrino regulator— an essential component of all warp drives. Elliott had panicked for a moment. If the neutrino regulator was damaged in any way, he doubted Bloodhound would have the appropriate salvage to fix it. It was an incredibly complex unit made of rare and expensive parts. The ship did have a repair kit under the dash but it wasn’t equipped to fix such a problem. He shakily lifted the panel that housed the regulator and took a peek inside. 

Initial inspection let him breathe a sigh of relief. The delicate glass that made up the majority of the regulator was still intact. A nodule and a few screws had come loose due to the ship’s age and the rough landing— that was it. Elliott thanked the divine powers that be. 

Suddenly he heard fuzz come on from walkie talkie. 

“Can you open the hull?” It was Bloodhound. Loud static in the background seemed to indicate they were outside. 

He switched on the input button. “Yeah, maybe. I'll try that now.” 

Elliott jumped up and started the idle power sequence. The bottom door that exposed the hull slowly, but surely, opened. A blast of cold air almost knocked the wind out of him. He had forgotten about the below freezing temperatures of Gaea— especially at night. Hound’s little cabin was a cozy, warm respite. 

He had to squint to see because of the frosty air and the darkness. The figure of Bloodhound, carrying a large backpack and bag, jumped into the ship before the door could fully open. They crawled in and motioned for him to close the door. Elliott quickly obeyed and cancelled the opening sequence. When the door finally sealed shut he breathed a large sigh of relief.

“Jesus, it's cold,” he yelped. It was so cold that Hound had donned eye protection.

They took their goggles off, a bit to Elliott’s disappointment; they looked adorable in them. “Yup!” They snickered and set down their bags. “I figured you wouldn’t want to travel back in such conditions… so I brought dinner and blankets… and another hot lamp.” They pulled the lamp out of the bag and turned it on. 

Elliott felt his heart swell.  _ Of course _ , they were fussing and worrying about him. The gesture was so simple yet he felt like he was on the verge of joyous tears. Nobody, aside from his mother, had ever cared this much about his stupid ass. 

“Is that alright?” Bloodhound asked, noticing his odd silence. 

“O-of course! Thanks so much! It-it actually...means a lot...” 

“Oh, I’m glad...” They mumbled sweetly and proceeded to shake off their thick jacket. 

“How’d ya get here though?” 

They gestured to their worn snowshoes. “I fixed up an old pair.” 

Elliott really did feel like he was gonna cry. Bloodhound had even gone to the effort of digging out and lacing up snowshoes. He suddenly realized that maybe they didn’t want him to leave either. The thought ignited that unmistakable warm fuzzy flare in the pit of his stomach— that intense feeling of love and admiration. 

They sat down next to him with a small bag. “Only sandwiches,” they murmured, disappointed. “I wish I could have made something better…”

_ And they even made little triangle sandwiches for me...  _

A tiny tear streaked down Elliott’s cheek. He realized that he was getting emotional over  _ sandwiches _ . 

“Is something wrong?” Hound asked, deeply concerned.

“No!” He laughed nervously. “I-I’m just really… happy. Yeah, I-I’m really happy.” 

“I am glad you love my sandwiches so much.” They giggled at their own joke and handed him one. 

Elliott desperately wanted to say  _ no. No. I love you so much. I love you Bloodhound. Or whatever your name really is. I know it’s only been a few days, but I am so madly in love with you. And your sandwiches. And everything you do, really. You're so kind and understanding when no one else is. You’re so different and I love that. I want to stay here forever with you.  _

Instead, he stared into the dimly lit hull of the tiny dropship, slowly munching on the delicious sandwich. He would have settle for just being with them. This was still good, though. 

Eating sandwiches together while the cold wind howled outside was good enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh we're getting close to elli leaving :( but don't worry there's still a lot of plot left. This is a slow burn and its not over until its over >;) 
> 
> Im still trying to decide if i'm going to make the continuation into a separate fic or if i'm just gonna continue with this one. Any suggestions r appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading as always <3333 Stay safe.


	9. See you later.

Thankfully, Elliott was going to be allowed one more night with his totally-just-good-friend Bloodhound. 

The pair had finished their meager dinner of triangle ham sandwiches, but only after Hound insisted he should have the last one. Earlier, Elliott managed to fix up the warp drive and ran a diagnostic to confirm. He bragged and stretched the truth— saying that the drive was significantly damaged and he fixed it with only the ship’s repair kit because he was an engineering genius. Of course, Hound nodded along, wide-eyed and impressed. _I don't understand all of that stuff,_ they admitted. _Didn’t you build your gear?_ He responded. _Yes, but that was simple. This is complex. You are much smarter than I am._ Elliott doubted that. In reality, all he did was follow a diagram and tighten a few screws. He knew that Bloodhound was far more gifted than he was. They were far more humble, too. 

Now, the pair sat quietly in the hull of the dropship hovering over the two heat lamps. Elliott wasn’t blind to the fact that Bloodhound was slowly inching closer to him. Their arm was now touching his. 

“Just say you wanna  _ huddle for warmth,”  _ he jested and mocked their accent, referencing the snuggle incident. 

“I want to huddle for warmth.” They admitted and grinned up at him. 

It felt natural— wrapping his arm around them. He leaned back on the seat and they leaned into his chest.  _ This is what perfect feels like, _ he made a point to himself to remember the moment. 

The wind howled and raged outside. The extreme weather had been easy to ignore in the well-insulated cabin, but the ship was hollow and bare. An anxious thought bubbled up in his brain— one about another sudden blizzard coming and trapping the pair inside of the ship. “What if there’s another storm… and we get stuck in  _ here _ ?” Elliott mumbled. 

“That would be bad,” Hound responded flatly. 

“Guess we really would have to eat each other to survive.” He held up their hand and pretended to eat it. “ _ Omnomnomnom.”  _

“Stop!” They giggled and snatched their hand away. “You are too much. And besides… you can eat your own hand.” 

“Aww fine,” He squeezed them close. Maybe he was being a bit too brazen with his romantic intentions, but he would be leaving tomorrow— _might_ _as_ _well_. 

He pulled a crate over and put up his feet. Despite the uncomfortable seats in the hull of the ship, Elliott soon found himself nodding off, exhausted from a day's work. Bloodhound had quickly made his chest into their pillow and they hummed quietly. Not that he was complaining, of course— this felt amazing. 

Slowly, he was pulled back from the brink of sleep by a rather specific sensation. His partner had gently zipped down his jacket and was now lightly tracing circles on his chest. They innocently carried out the motion, but it was an obvious coquettish gesture. 

“Want somethin’?” he growled. 

“I don’t want you to sleep there... I brought a mat. It's more comfortable.”

_ Oh. Damn.  _

It was sweet that they were concerned about him, even though Elliott was hoping they would suggest something a little less wholesome. He couldn’t help wanting just one more night of  _ benefits _ and the cramped space of the ship made things even more hot and heavy. 

_ Wait a sec—  _

“You have a spare sleeping mat?” He asked with a smug grin quickly forming.

“Mm.” Bloodhound graced him with a sleepy, affirmative grunt— thinking nothing of the question.

“So you’re just now telling me ‘bout this. I could’ve slept on that instead of in your bed.” 

They pulled out of his embrace with a sheepish grin. “Ah. I suppose that is true. You caught me.” 

He was at a loss when it came to a clever quip. It was obvious why they had decided to withhold that information; he didn’t need to belabor the point. Instead, he just chuckled and leaned back, smiling to himself, content with uncovering their intentions.

The mat had been rolled out and the pair cleared out the hull, turning it into a cozy nest of foiled space blankets and heat lamps. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but Elliott didn’t mind. He could sleep on solid, bare rock and as long as Hound was beside him, he would rest well. 

He watched, enamored, as they shook off their outer layers of clothing, only leaving a tightly fitted cropped top and baggy cargo pants. They settled down beside him. Elliott was going to run his mouth about how much he was going to miss them or about how cold he was until he looked over and noticed the sleepy expression of his partner. Bloodhound was going to pass out any second judging by the way they couldn’t even keep their eyes open. 

“You can sleep,” he murmured in a gentle voice. 

They didn’t even give him their usual ‘ _góða nótt’_ and instead nearly fell over from exhaustion— just like in those viral videos of sleepy kittens. He chuckled softly and tucked a thin foil blanket around them.

* * *

A sliver of bright light leaked through the thin glass shield at the front of the ship. It was mid-morning when they awoke— close, but not entangled, much to Elliott’s dismay. 

“Is this...it?” Elliott asked as his partner folded up a blanket and packed everything they had brought.

“How do you mean?” They asked sweetly. 

“I mean… is this the last time I’m gonna see you?”

“Well, we have the Games—”

“No, no. Outside of that. Besides that.”

“Oh.” 

The pair were silent for a moment. Elliott was anxiously hanging onto a response. Bloodhound glanced to the side, contemplative and somber. The longer the silence grew, the more nervous he got.  _ Why are they taking so long to answer? Shouldn’t it be obvious?  _ Elliott was starting to think  _ he _ did something wrong. Maybe they really  _ didn’t _ care as much as he thought they did. Maybe he had misinterpreted their intentions. Maybe all of this was just a one-time thing for them.

“No… this isn’t the last time.” They finally said. 

He let out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, okay good...” 

An obvious unanswered question still hung in the air.

“How can I… reach you? I-it’s not like I can call you or something…” he quickly blurted, desperately wanting to make sure he had a way to get back to them.

“I will… reach you.” They assured him with a tiny nod.

_ Leave it to Bloodhound to be cryptic and distant _ . 

“Oh um… okay.” He was honestly disappointed with their response. It meant that he would have to wait. “ _‘Reach_ _me’_ before we have to go back to the Ring… if you can.” 

Hound nodded gently and continued to think; he could tell given their furrowed brow and slight pout— it was adorable. “I will.” They said.

“Promise?” Maybe he was coming off as clingy, but Elliott needed some kind of confirmation in order to sleep at night. 

“Promise.” 

* * *

“I almost want to jump out of here and break my ankle again. Just so I can stay a few more days— I know you’ll take good care of me.” Elliott mused absently as he flipped switches and gently coaxed the old ship awake. He started the engines slowly, trying to gradually melt the snow that had accumulated around the vessel. Bloodhound stood in the pit with him. They had packed everything up and looked like a Sherpa ready to weather mountains. 

They smiled warmly. 

“Th-thanks again, by the way. This all… it-it’s just been real nice.” He turned around.

“No need to thank me.” 

“Aaand there you go, bein’ all humble an’ sweet. Just let me thank you.”

“Mm. Okay. You are welcome.” They traced a metal seam that ran along the ship’s door. “And I suppose… this is goodbye.” 

“No, not goodbye. It’s ‘see you later, alligator.’”

“Alliga _ tor?”  _ They blinked, wearing a quizzical expression.

“Yeah,  _ alligater _ .” 

“I cannot say I know what that is.” 

“I really don’t know either. Just a fun way of sayin’ bye I guess…” he trailed off finding it hard to keep a chipper attitude given the circumstances. 

“I would say... _ kveðjum…elskan.”  _

Elliott noticed the tiny, mischievous smile they were trying awfully hard to hide. For a brief moment, he wondered if there was some hidden meaning in the words he didn’t understand. “ _Kivedj-um_ _elscon_ … that’s nice. Doesn’t rhyme though.”

“I’ll think of a rhyme for you next time.” 

“‘Ey, that rhymed!” 

Bloodhound graced him with a warm laugh— the same one he had heard when they first walked into the cabin, barefaced and shocked that he was on his feet. He was going to miss that laugh. Hearing it in dreams wouldn’t be enough. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long to hear it again. 

Elliott had reluctantly returned to the ship’s dash and only moments later, he felt jacketed arms snake their way down his shoulders, hugging him from behind. His hunter rested their chin atop his head and hummed. 

“Be safe,” they said softly. 

“I will.” He promised.

It felt strange. This was a moment that was supposed to be about passionate goodbye kisses. A playful hug, he figured, was good enough. And besides, any affection from them felt divine. He squeezed their arm and the pair remained still for a minute as they both listened to the growls of the starting ship and stared at the dim reflection on the frosty glass shield. 

Bloodhound let go and Elliott felt an instant chill without them. He wanted, desperately, to jump up and hold them and  _ beg—  _ beg for them to come with him. 

Good things have to come to an end.

Ultimately, he didn’t want to overstep. This wasn't a big deal; he knew he would see them again. 

It still stung. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah here marks the end of the little cabin saga. still, a lot of fluff to come so no worries. I realize the plot has been kinda slow but that's just the nature of these types of fics lol 
> 
> There's another update! —>  
> I just decided since these chapters r kinda short I would post both  
> Thanks for reading <333


	10. Verðandi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter written from houndies pov. I hope it's not too jarring ;’)

A tiny, leather journal laid flat on the kitchen table. The pages were unusually bare. Soft sunlight glittered outside of the window as it passed through fresh icicles. A pine candle had been lit and raisin bread baked in the tiny oven. 

Bloodhound sat at their table, absently stirring tea that had long since gone cold. They were awfully busy staring at the empty page— doing nothing. The past few days had been _quiet_ in a way that was suffocating. They jumped when the radiator turned on or when their feathered roommate knocked something off of the counter. That typically wasn’t the case. They were once accustomed to silence— up until about a week ago. 

Now _he_ had left and when they woke up, they felt _cold_ . They had a taste of what that sweet warmth felt like and now they craved nothing else. It was sweeter than honey drizzled on the best raisin bread— it was warmer than a crackling furnace on a snowy day. It was a feeling they had _never_ felt before. The hunter could easily count on one hand how many times they had been smitten, but this was so much more than that. 

They certainly didn’t expect these feelings. 

Foresight was something they prided themself on, but perhaps they had become too prideful as a tiny mortal. This was a subtle message from the _Nornir—_ a lesson in learning to be more appreciative of the spontaneity in life and a little less reliant on fate as an excuse to withdraw from society. For the first time in a long time, the hunter wondered if they had been missing out. _How many soulmates and best friends had they missed the chance to connect with...?_

It was a troubling thought that they quickly dismissed. They had faith in fate. Any fantasies about an alternate life were simply asinine and an affront to the divine women that were gently sewing the hunter’s tapestry. Their course was already written. And now it was becoming clear that the great _Nornir_ were weaving Elliott Witt into their life…

_Of all people…_

And really, it felt less like weaving and more like tangling given the absolute mess of emotions he stirred within them. Admiration, excitement, bliss, and peace— all with a healthy splash of frustration and annoyance to balance things out. The stoic hunter wasn’t used to feeling so many things at once. 

The pair were opposites, but at the very least, they were complementary— a high-strung, worldly extrovert and a mellow, spiritual introvert.

He was everything they weren’t. He was everything they could never be, yet they _adored_ him. He had brought them so much joy— the playful, almost childlike kind. The hunter couldn't predict that saving him in battle would result in so many wonderful, new developments. Perhaps his attention was Freyja’s reward for their heroism and hospitality. _Oh, the silly, stupid little things he would say and oh, the way he would grin just before he’d jab them with a nonsensical joke_. They rarely found brash and frivolous men so attractive, yet here they were... 

_And oh, that night. He had been so gentle._ Bloodhound was typically reserved, but when he had kissed them, their insatiable flame of desire reached a fever pitch. It had been _too_ long. They had endured too many lonely nights in their lonely abode at the edge of the woods. They simply couldn’t help what had happened. 

_It was meant to happen. It was fate. They didn’t regret it._ However, it put a strange tone on the pair’s newfound relationship. They were friends who had done everything that lovers would. 

But they _weren’t_ lovers. 

In many ways, the lonesome hunter didn’t want a lover. A particularly close friend was good enough. Having a lover would mean change— changing into a more vulnerable person. It meant they would have to learn to _trust_. And as much as they adored Elliott, they couldn’t trust him with their heart.

It would also strain their performance in the Ring. Squads were randomly chosen; it would be easy for the pair to get matched against each other. There was a possibility, that in the heat of battle, they would be forced too— 

Bloodhound didn’t want to think about that right now. They had learned that they couldn’t predict the tides fate. Instead, they decided to lean in and embrace the weavings as they existed in the present— not as they were or would be. As a sign of reverence for _Verðandi_ (and as a humble apology for being so blind to her) they plucked a matchbox from a drawer and lit another candle, placing it on the windowsill. 

The tiny flame writhed and waned and burned. The hunter watched it and contemplated the present moment.

The present moment compelled them to _write_. Perhaps poetry— 

About transient paradise. 

About an oasis. 

About a mirage— an illusion that could only exist as it did in the present.

They couldn’t help but to grin a little. The words that had once been so foreign were now becoming clear. The threads of poetry were slowly starting to take form. Bloodhound quickly sat back down and eagerly took up their pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short lil chapter ‘bout houndie embracing their newfound morosexuality 
> 
> If I was gifted enough, I'd totally write out their poems, but poetry, especially the ethereal and ancient kind, eludes me :(  
> Despite that fact, I do love how this chapter turned out. Btw The Nornir (or Norns) are the Germanic equivalent of the Greek Fates. Since Hound likes to talk an awful lot about fate, I figured they would definitely revere the Norns :>  
> Thanks for reading, as always. Stay safe <3


	11. Hot 'n Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely nothing to do so why wait to post this lol? I've been writing like crazy now that things have settled down in my life, so here, anotha’ one :”)

Elliott Witt returned to a world that had cared little about his brief disappearance. Most folks who followed the Games cared a lot more about the rumors of a new arena and rumors of new, talented contestants.

He wasn’t bothered as much as he thought he would be. Afterall, there were only two people on his mind that mattered. 

One of them was his mother. The minute he landed in Solace he made a point to see her and hug her. Thankfully, she had largely forgotten about the news coverage that had shown the disaster. She had just assumed he was busy as per usual. It was easy to sit down and just talk for hours. This time it was a lot less painful as he didn’t need to repeat or re-explain so many things. _So maybe she was improving..._

The other person on his mind...

Well of course they were the prepossessing angel that had been his host over the past week. It was impossible to go a few minutes without a thought of them. He was obsessed, like he was over his first crush in middle school. They looked a lot like her, come to think of it— messy dark hair, light freckles and bright silver eyes. The hunter was a lot kinder, though; his old childhood crush would only sit with him at lunch to make fun of him. 

Whiskey and glass in hand, he grabbed his barely charged phone and wandered out onto his penthouse’s patio. It was only his second day home and as soon as he had taken a shower he grabbed Bloodhound’s jacket and put it back on— going as far as to sleep in it the night prior. The collar smelled faintly of pine, leather and sweet musk. He wouldn’t dare to ever wash it. It was kind of ridiculous how attached he had become to them. In many ways it was a little shameful too. He was supposed to be an independent adult, not a love sick teen. 

Over and over again, he tried to tell himself it was just infatuation. By definition, it was— but like all infatuations the afflicted thought it was something more. And it didn’t help that Elliott was one to be easily infatuated. 

He leaned back in a chair by the patio’s pool and poured himself a large drink over ice, too lazy to make himself anything other than straight whiskey. He remembered one of the first conversations he had with the hunter— one about the fact that they _never_ had a drink before. He was definitely going to change that. He was probably a bad influence on them. They were too pure and sweet. Then again, they _had_ shown him their unrestrained side…

With a grin, he fondly remembered the events of his little stay at the cabin. He absolutely _had_ to talk about it to someone— just a little bit. 

Elliott grabbed his phone.

He was friendly with most of the ‘legends’ in the Games (at least, with the ones who were open to being sociable), but none were close to him like Anita. Given her previous (and proud) affiliation with the IMC, initially, he thought he would despise her and she would return the sentiment. The people of the Outlands were tired and broken and simply didn’t have the energy to keep the animosities of yesterday. Anita and Elliott ended up being no exception. They had more in common than they had differences. At first, he was honestly terrified of her and she was dismissive of him, but when she reached out offering a truce, he was more than receptive. 

Anita had texted him— three times. Once, asking if he made it out of the Canyon in one piece. The second text was markedly more concerned in its tone. The third was only from a day ago; it was practically a beg for him to respond because she noticed that he was reported as missing in the news. 

He was touched by the fact that she actually did care (as much as she liked to pretend that she hated his guts).

He then panicked a little, feeling like a terrible burden and a terrible friend. She was probably losing it over him.

_ >Hey. I feel awful about missing your messages. Didn’t have my phone for the past week. A LOT happened. It’s been crazy. I’m still alive, so please don’t kill me :D Call me tmrw? _

Elliott set his phone down and took a deep breath. He didn’t have the energy to talk tonight. Tonight, he wanted to just drink and think about Bloodhound. 

His phone buzzed. 

_ >Thank god. You're lucky I’m more relieved than pissed. Can we meet instead of call? _

He really was lucky. Anita was the type to smash a nut, or two, if this was some kind of stunt. 

_ >Promise you won’t hit me— then we can meet. The usual? _

She responded quickly. 

_ >Fine. 1900 _

_ >Copy that, sarge _

He giggled to himself. He simply couldn’t refrain from poking fun at Anita’s general and unrelenting ‘bootness’.

After pouring more whiskey, he leaned back and gazed upon the glittering neon abyss of Solace City. Pink, yellow, and blue bled into an artificial sunset. The ambient hum of millions of people living out their lives could be heard from down below. Of course, he couldn’t help but to think about Bloodhound. He imagined that they would _love_ his pool and the beautiful view, despite being a nature person. They had promised to reach out, somehow. He hoped it would be soon as he couldn’t wait to show them _his_ place. Hopefully, they would be joining him on the patio, drinking and swimming, clothes _not_ included. 

* * *

A big bear hug was something Elliott never expected to receive from Anita. He felt a pang of guilt— she must have been _real_ worried. The pair got their pleasantries out of the way and quickly sat down at the private bar— _his bar._

He bought the whole damn place with the cash from his first win. _Paradise Lounge._ A significant amount was also spent in generally sprucing everything up. A myriad of new patrons flowed in, some hoping to catch a glimpse of the legends who frequented, others were just glad to have a nicer place to get wasted in.

After the pair ordered drinks, Anita scanned him from head to toe.

“That’s a new jacket. You some kind of farmer now?” She scoffed.

Elliott didn’t even realize that he was still wearing Hound’s jacket. It certainly wasn’t his style— being that it was oddly bland and clearly designed for utility. He would’ve normally gone for something more flashy . 

“Ahah, a-about that… it’s not actually mine.” 

“What.” Anita said flatly. 

“Oh boy, where do I even start…” he slammed another drink and shot her a sheepish grin. At the moment, Elliott was trying to decide how much he was going to tell her. _Should I even tell her it’s Bloodhound’s?_ He knew he couldn’t disclose anything about the nature of the affair, but the rest he was unsure about. Bloodhound was the private type and probably _didn’t_ want him to say _anything—_ but he was dying to get the events of the past week off of his chest. 

“That’s not a good sign.” She arched an eyebrow. 

“Yeah it’s been… a lot.” 

“Bad or good?” 

“Good. Great, actually. J-just, I’m not sure how to tell you…” 

“You know, I have no problem with you discovering yourself this late in life. You don’t have to be ashamed.” She took on an uncharacteristically soft yet formal tone.

“What?” Elliott was very confused.

“You’re not gay or...?” 

“No! Why would you think that?” He squeaked. 

“Because! You’re missing for a week. You come in here actin’ all weird, wearing this weird jacket, then tell me it’s not yours— I dunno, guess I just assumed it was your new boyfriend’s or something.” 

Elliott had to laugh. Anita joined him, awkwardly, yet relieved she didn’t offend him. “I _don’t_ have a boyfriend.” He insisted. 

“Fine. Fine. But who the hell gave you that thing.” 

“Bloodhound,” he blurted impulsively.

_Ah, shit. Saying he had a boyfriend would have been easier to explain._

“ _What_.” Anita almost choked on her drink. She stared at him with the most dumbfounded expression— a display of raw emotion that was typically uncommon for no-nonsense ex-military.

“Y-yeah.” He stammered nervously. 

She glanced to the side, then to the floor, then to her drink. It was obvious that she was trying hard to collect her thoughts. “I have _several_ questions.” She finally announced. 

“I-I-I-I know. It’s kinda crazy, b-but I can start.” 

“Yeah _please_.” She tossed a hand in a rather demanding gesture. 

“S-so the explosion happened, right? ‘M-member me an’ Hound— ‘an Ajay— we were a squad. right? A-and I barely made it out of there. Honestly, I don’t remember ‘cuz that new guy knocked me out. Well anyway, I wake up and I’m in this weird cabin and everything hurts like hell and—“ 

“ _Sloooow down_.” She eased with a chuckle. 

It was mildly embarrassing that he was running his mouth like an excited child. Elliott took a deep breath and rubbed his temples— then took another drink. “W-where was I?” He asked. 

“Somethin’ about a weird cabin?” 

“Oh-oh yeah. So that turns out to be _Bloodhound’s_ place. Th-they took me there to heal from my injuries since all the medical supr-support was unavailable. Well, so, I wake up and everything hurts and I-I’m poking around their house and—”

“What it look like?” 

“Huh?” 

“Their house! What was it like?” Anita leaned in, a lot more engaged than she would probably want to admit. 

“Oh! It was really small, but cozy. And real messy too— like, a bunch of weird shit everywhere— bones, crystals, books, candles— I dunno, all that kinda stuff. But that’s not even the crazy part. So, I hear the door open and I turn around and there’s this _person_ standing there. And I’m like, ‘who the hell are you’, in my head. A-and it’s _Bloodhound_!” 

Anita looked genuinely shocked. “Really?” 

“Y-yeah! And they didn’t have the mask on!” 

“Well, _shit_.” She said, exasperated. “What were they… like?” 

“Honestly? Smokin’.” 

“ _Jesus.”_ If Anita rolled her eyes any harder, Elliott would’ve had to take her to the hospital. 

“N-no it’s not like that.” He chuckled, nervously. 

“Whatever you say chief…” 

“W-well anyway we get to talkin’ and they were just… well, they were just real _nice_. I totally didn’t expect it. It was like meeting a whole-ass new person. They’re totally different without the mask— b-but they’re also still kinda the same...” 

“You know I have _more_ questions now.” 

“Shoot.” He grinned and motioned for the bartender. 

“You were gone for awhile. You tellin’ me you stayed there this whole time?” She arched an eyebrow.

“O-oh yeah I had to. Turns out, this blizzard came and trapped us in— the dropship they stole was busted too but I fixed it up.” Elliott grinned proudly. 

“And you… survived?” 

“Yeah I did! Look, Hound isn’t the creepy weirdo you think they are. I-I mean, they’re still kind of a weirdo, but a nice weirdo. A cute weirdo...” he trailed off, regretting saying ‘cute’. It was probably the alcohol talking already. 

“Well here’s the real question…” Anita eyed him over her drink as she took a long sip. 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you sleep together?” 

“N-no! W-why would you think that?!” Elliott ran a quick, nervous hand through his hair and tried his damndest to act shocked, then realized that his overacting was a dead giveaway. 

“Because I _know_ you. And I know you’re not going a whole week, trapped in some tiny-ass cabin with someone you refer to as ‘smokin’’ without… banging.” She said it so nonchalantly. She saw straight through him. 

“Yeah… we did.” He admitted.

Immediately, Elliott felt the scornful gaze of Bloodhound’s gods upon him. He knew it was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. He made a promise to them— a promise that was now broken. But he _had_ to vent. He _had_ to tell Anita. And besides, _she_ was the one who asked him. 

“Just hope you were safe about it...” She rolled her eyes and took another long drink. 

“We-we were. I wasn’t supposed to tell you, though... actually.” 

“Then why did you?” She turned and glared at him. Anita was a woman of honor who greatly valued swears and promises. 

“B-because. I dunno. I just had to, okay? I had to tell _someone_.” 

“You really _didn’t_ have to tell me ‘cuz now I can’t look at either of you clowns the same way.” 

“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly. “Well anyway, like I said… crazy stuff.” 

“That’s an understatement.” She scoffed. “You still haven’t answered why you have that jacket.” 

“Oh yeah. I needed it. They let me have it. It was cold there— on Gaea, by the way.” 

She eyed him suspiciously “You don’t need it now. It's warm here. So why are you wearing it?” 

“Uhh.” He instantly flushed red. 

“ _Jeee-sus_. You better not be getting into what I think you’re getting into.” 

“Wh-whaddya mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean and I’m here tellin’ you it’s a bad idea.” 

“You don’t know anything about them. Maybe you’d get it if you _actually_ knew them.” 

He could tell she was seriously judging him. “No, I don’t think I would. ‘Cuz I ain’t you. I’m not horny for every person that so much as looks at me twice.” 

“I-I’m not!” 

“ _You’re_ easy to get. And I’m surprised such an _esteemed_ and _honored warrior_ has standards that low. Must be desperate.” 

It was just her way of messing around, but it did hurt. He had sensitivities and couldn’t help it— he was already insecure about Bloodhound using him. “Wow.” Was all he could manage as he downed another drink. 

“I’m playing. But also, I’m not. We’re out there fighting. And you two are gonna have to be at each other's throats eventually. Love on the battlefield…not a great idea.” 

“I think it could work,” Elliott mumbled. 

“Shut up.” Anita snapped.

“Well you’d be pleased to know we’re _just_ friends,” he retorted in a defeated tone. 

“And I’m saying it needs to stay that way. But I can tell when you get all up in your… feelings.” Her expression was a cross between pity, confusion, and judgement. Deep down, he knew she was just looking out for him. At the end of the day, they were all competitors in a blood sport— a blood sport that yes, allowed most contestants to survive, but still had a near guarantee of injury at the _least_ . _Surely if they fought now, Bloodhound would spare him…?_

“And besides,” she started, “I can’t think of two fools who are more _different_ . You’re stupid as hell for sticking it in _that._ And they’re obviously more of a whack-a-doo than I thought for letting you.” 

“You should meet ‘em,” he blurted suddenly. 

“Huh.” 

“I-I mean, _face-to-face_ as friends, not fighters.” 

“Why would I do that? Look, you’re not gonna convince me that your little escapade is a good idea—”

“Just as friends, okay! I think you guys could get along. And they need more friends… you do too, honestly.

Anita sat back and glanced up at the ceiling, deep in thought about the prospect. She was just as guarded as Hound was. As the pair were silent, smoky jazz and ambient conversations filled the space between them. 

“You guys have plans to meet up again?” She was definitely a sharp one.

“Aha, well, that’s the thing. I don’t _reeeaaallly_ know. I mean I hope we can, at least before the next season. But we kinda left it up in the air. They promised to ‘reach out’— whatever that meant.” 

“Probably a message by carrier pigeon.” 

“Raven, actually.”

“Whatever the fuck…. I don’t know, okay? I’ll think about it.” She snapped. 

“Alright, alright… it was just a suggestion.” He laid off. “There’s gonna be a next season, though… right?” He quickly changed the subject. 

“Yeah. A new arena too— on some nowhere planet called _Talos.”_

Elliott nodded along absently, but he instantly remembered that name. _Talos_ was the place Bloodhound had claimed they were from. It was also the place they were adamant about _not_ talking about. There was definitely pain in their past and for a moment he worried about them and how they would deal with returning. He assumed that like himself, they were bound by a contract— so it wasn’t like they could quit any time soon. Anita continued talking and he spaced out, staring into his drink. It was easy to lose himself in his mind when he started to think about them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anita is jus tryin to help a man out but elli wont listen, he's in love okay
> 
> Theres anotha one cuz I have no self control!! -->
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always. Stay safe <3


	12. Dog out of Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHA’ ONE 
> 
> Seriously it’s my fave chap so far I hope y’all enjoy it 
> 
> Anyway, now that things are picking up more, I’m going to routinely switch povs just cuz I think it’s more fun uvu

The hunter always made good on promises.

That seemed nearly impossible as they stood in the desolate hall of the empty station, sopping wet, trying to decipher a subway map. It was pouring rain outside and it seemed as if the weather was somehow a sign from the gods. Perhaps it was a sign to turn back— or it was a lesson in that braving the trials of life would result in plentiful rewards… Bloodhound hoped it was the latter.

They felt like a stranger in a strange land, completely out of their element. In all reality, the rare passerby wouldn’t even look twice. The subways were filled with strange figures at this time of night.

The once brave hunter wanted to curl up and _cry—_ they felt like a foolish lost child. In the city, they were. Everything was so foreign and cold, like a nightmare. Endless swathes of concrete and steel extended up as far as one could crane their neck. Neon and fluorescence screamed through the dark of the night. Crowds of people shoved you out of the way if you didn’t walk fast enough. Everything _stunk_ like dirty metal and pollution. Cars sped by— and even worse, hordes of nightmarish _thinking machines_ , designed for all kinds of tasks, crawled through the streets. 

They hated the city and everything it represented. It was an affront to nature. And that wasn’t even to mention the drastic drop in air quality that had given them a persistent wheeze and cough. 

Originally, they wanted to come off as capable to Elliott— impress and woo him by showing up at his door unannounced. They were a tracker, after all. And after bumbling around Zaldana, they had managed to catch a shuttle to Solace. 

Now they were lost, stranded, confused, wet and _cold._

_And kind of hungry too._

Their little ‘plan’ consisted of trusting the gods— that was it. Once, they arrived, surely there would be a divine sign that would point straight to him. Then they could waltz right up to his door and give him a big hug… 

But as the minutes passed, it was becoming increasingly clear that a sign didn’t exist. This was a shock of reality that they weren’t ready for. Their innocent and infantile worldview had been totally shattered. Their faith was being questioned too, but they ignored that.

They slumped and sat down against the grimy tile wall, burying their face in their hands. Barefaced, no one knew who they were— which was a small comfort. 

The tears quickly followed. 

At least they weren’t alone. 

Artur hopped up to Bloodhound and pressed its beak into their leg. They scratched the bird’s fluffy head. 

“ _What am I going to do_ ,” they sobbed quietly. A man walking by glanced down for a moment and then quickly continued on. 

The raven squawked in a comforting tone and nestled closer to them. 

_Eat. I’m going to go eat._

Bloodhound was a nervous eater, to say the least. Their single vice was sweets. There was no shortage of gluttonous food in the city, thankfully. _Several_ donuts sounded _so_ good right now. After a feast, then they could try to figure out how to find Elliott. 

They slowly rose and clutched the tiny woven purse they had brought. At least they had enough sense to bring some credits. After shaking what rain they could out of their long coat, Bloodhound started on walking the opposite way from where they had come. 

Artur followed behind dutifully as they trudged through the grime-filled subway. Thin lamps that lined the ceiling flickered. The pair were relatively alone, but they did often pass by a poor, tattered figure resting on a thin mat. Bloodhound rarely encountered such displays of impoverishment due to their isolated lifestyle. It was heartbreaking and _confusing._ Many facets and idiosyncrasies of modern life still eluded them. Why were so _many_ people living like _this_ when only a _few_ were living at the top of the glittering, steel towers? 

They would give away their purse in an instant if they weren’t currently in need of caffeine and sugar. Perhaps, they would return to the subways of Solace. They had no real need for their wealth anyway…

_Lof Odin!_

The rain had let up once they reached steps that led to the surface. As they emerged, Artur flew ahead and landed on a street sign. They followed the bird only to look up and their gaze drifted to a tiny storefront. A neon blue sign read— 

_Cybercafe- Open 24hours_

_Yndislegt!_

The word ‘cyber’ was unfamiliar but the word ‘cafe’ wasn’t. That meant donuts. Hopefully. 

They walked into the cafe. It was dimly lit and reeked of stale coffee to the point where it was headache-inducing. The hunter started to regret their decision especially when they saw the _thing_ that stood behind the counter.

It was a wretched _thinking machine—_ similar to the one that competed in the Games. Bloodhound frowned as they approached the counter. If they weren’t in desperate need of a pick-me-up they would prefer _not_ to interact with the abomination. 

“Greetings, customer.” The machine gargled. “Order now please or log on to a computer. Loitering is prohibited.” 

They craned over and spotted the lit cubicles that housed desktops in the back of the cafe. A few were occupied, but most weren’t. _How strange. Isn’t this an establishment that serves food?_

The machine must have detected their unusual silence. “Language and accessibility settings can be accessed here.” It motioned to the screen on its chest. 

* * *

  
  


After nearly ten minutes of struggling, Bloodhound managed to order a latte with extra vanilla and only one chocolate donut. They would have ordered more had they brought more money. Turns out, they had grossly miscalculated the value of credits. _Of course_. Everything felt like it was going wrong. All they wanted to do was surprise Elliott. Oh, what they would give to be in his arms— dry and warm. 

Through the dirty window, they stared outside at the expanse of the awful city. There wasn’t a single sliver of nature— not a single leaf of foliage. No kind creatures roamed this wilderness, instead it was filled with cruel humans selfishly carrying out their lives— oftentimes at the expense of kind creatures… or other humans. 

Bloodhound hated it _so_ much. They chose battle, just like all of the contestants in the Games, so winning at the expense of others was fair. They knew that many people of the city _didn’t_ have a choice, though— yet they still lost. The hunter contemplated the realities of the strange world they now found themself in. Maybe if more people honored the gods, not wealth, things would be _softer_. 

For the first time, it made them question Elliott. _What kind of person was he if he could live so comfortably amongst this savagery?_

They pushed the melancholy down with a large bite of donut. 

It was stale. 

A woman sat down a few seats away at the minibar. They looked over. She was sporting a thick rain jacket, a long skirt, and ripped tights. A tattered woven scarf was bunched up around her neck. Her messy black hair was tied up loosely and large silver hoops hung from her ears. She gripped her drink and stared forward with a scowl. 

She looked… _familiar_. 

Somehow, she must have noticed them staring. Their heart stopped when she suddenly turned and stared right back. The pair glared at each other for a solid minute. Keyboards clicked in the background like crickets. 

“Do you have a fucking problem?” She snapped suddenly. Ice blue eyes blasted a hole straight through their skull. 

_It was Wraith._

In the Ring, the pair were good allies, possibly _friends_ . Bloodhound had saved her several times and she returned the favor. Sure, she was a little _odd,_ but they were the same way. They were relatively comfortable around her— the two understood each other. Now though… Bloodhound wasn’t prepared for this kind of social confrontation. 

“I asked a question,” she hissed. 

“Wr-wraith.” The word came out as some kind strange squeak. 

“Another fucking werido fan,” she grumbled to herself and proceeded to get up. 

“No! It-it’s me!” 

“Who?” She scanned them with a judgemental expression. The fact that she hadn’t walked out yet was a good sign. 

“Uhm. Uhm.” Their heart thundered in their chest. 

“Get lost,” she spat and briskly walked out of the cafe. 

Bloodhound reluctantly left their drink and their half-eaten donut. They quickly shoved the door open and chased after her. Wraith had already made significant headway, but they were able to easily reach her. They grabbed her sleeve and she whipped around. 

“Fuck off!” She yelped and snatched her arm away. 

“It-it’s me.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Bloodhound!” 

She paused and just stared back. As she examined them, her eyes grew progressively larger. A rapid blush started to creep up their cheeks, embarrassed by being seen barefaced so unexpectedly. 

“ _Blóðhundur,”_ they murmured. 

“Oh.” She said flatly. 

A tiny smile wormed its way along the corners of her mouth. Nervous, yet also relieved, Bloodhound smiled too. “How do I know it’s you?” She demanded suddenly. 

They knew how to answer that question and gestured for their loyal companion. Artur landed gracefully on their forearm with a majestic caw.

“Woah.” She grinned. 

“You look…” she started.

“Wet, I know.” 

“ _No._ You look exactly like… how I imagined.” Wraith smiled wide and cocked her head in a kind expression. “S-sorry about yelling at you. I have to deal with creeps a lot.” 

“It’s quite alright.” 

“Well, I still feel bad.” 

The ambience of the clamoring city filled the air as the pair stood together quietly, just staring at each other. 

“Why are you here?” Wraith asked. 

“I’m visiting… someone.” 

“Oh really. Who’s that?” 

“Um, you wouldn’t know…” 

“Try me,” she taunted. 

“Ah well I suppose—“ before Bloodhound could get the words out, a nasty cough bubbled up from their chest. _It was painful and it felt like the blood in their lungs was being squeezed out._ Shocked by the pain, they leaned over gripping their chest. 

Wraith placed a hand on their back and knelt to comfort them. “Shit. Are you okay?” Her tone was flat as per usual, but the physical contact proved she was concerned. 

The hunter shivered. 

They were tired. 

And in pain. 

And cold. 

And lost.

And _scared._

“ _No.”_ They whimpered and accepted her embrace. 

“Come here,” she murmured softly _._ “We probably shouldn’t be out here. And _geez_ you’re really wet… Got stuck in the rain?” 

“Y-yes.” Bloodhound tried to laugh to hide the tears that were forming. “I am lost.” They confided. 

“Aren’t we all?” She mused with a small grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually love this chapter so much. My mind is so powerful at 3 am. Every other hour of the day? Not so much.  
> Houndie doesn’t understand capitalism (and most things about modernity) and Renee is just a softie but can’t admit it.  
> Anyway yes (like many others) I’m headcanoning that bh has a chronic condition due to the coolant blast— and being out in the cold all wet certainly did not help things. So u know what that means.  
> Sick fic time babey.


	13. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloodhound really needs a hug from their trickster crush and finally ends up getting one. (Several, actually.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead so yay. Celebration!
> 
> Starts out with renee being a wonderfully cold bitch :)  
> Then turns into an absolute angst fest at the expense of our poor hundur :(  
> It's all hurt/comfort tho so dw :)  
> but there are quite a few dysphoria/dysmorphia themes regarding our poor hundur and their body image :( 
> 
> Just a heads up ‘cuz i kno it might be troubling to some. Nothing super explicit or super intense but it definitely is there

_Renee Blasey turned out to be a great friend. Well, Bloodhound always knew that, but they didn’t know her true name. And they also didn’t know about the ratty, downtrodden apartment she lived in. She claimed that living in the slums was a necessity when it came to flying under the radar of… she didn’t explain who exactly had a dangerous grudge against her._

_As much as she liked to act distant and cold, the opposite was true of her character. Bloodhound learned that as soon as she offered a fresh change of clothes and a place to stay. They kindly refused, insisting their clothes were already nearly dry. So instead, they sat on a towel on her torn-up sofa. Renee had sat down next to them and instinctively pulled out a cigarette— then tucked it away moments later. The hunter smiled to themself, touched by the little gesture of consideration._

“Why were you in… that place?” Hound asked softly. 

“I dunno. I’m an insomniac. Plus I like their coffee. It tastes like battery acid but at least it makes me feel something.”

They grunted in amusement, yet they were extremely thankful for her quirks. This might just be the divine sign they were looking for. Maybe she could bring them to Elliott.

“You still need to tell me about this mystery person you’re visiting.” She inquired back. 

“If I tell you… you will make fun of me,” they said meekly, quickly realizing that she and Elliott had quite the rivalry.

“Look, if I wanted to make fun of you, I woulda said something about those pants… which are atrocious by the way.” She glanced down at their pants. 

“I like them,” Hound mumbled. 

“You look like a _Heather_ if she crawled out of a retirement home dumpster. _”_

They wore pleated dress pants featuring a dark green and gold plaid pattern. Bloodhound had coupled them with a thin tan sweater and ankle socks— plus dress shoes. A tiny golden brooch of an owl sat above their left breast and a floral, silky ascot was tied loosely around their neck. It was one of their favorite outfits and one of their nicest too. They had worn it less for themself and more for Elliott. They knew he would be more appreciative of their style than Renee was. 

The hunter had now been soaked, head to toe, by the dirty rain of the city. Even if their tan trenchcoat caught most of the rain, by now it had seeped into every layer of fabric, giving them a slight chill and a rather pathetic appearance. At one point they did look sharp and queerly stylish, but that was several hours ago. 

“You would be well-served to wear tights that weren’t ripped to shreds,” they retorted. 

“Touché,” Renee said flatly. She stretched her legs out onto a tiny footrest, showing off the tights and scuffed combat boots. “Neither of us are fashion icons— and I’m changing the subject. You still need to answer the question 

“Do I have to?” 

“You're just making it worse. C’mon, it's not like you're gonna tell me you're having an affair with another legend; perhaps… _Mirage_.” 

The minute the word left her mouth, Bloodhound lurched forward purely out of shock. _How did she... ?_ They knew her preconscious was finely tuned, but surely she couldn’t read minds... _right?_ Their eyes widened and their heart raced. Silently, they stared forward, avoiding her icy gaze.

“What the fuck,” she said flatly. “Why are you acting like that?” 

“You made me suddenly ill… with that thought.” They grinned, cringing, trying to act shocked.

A rare flash of emotion graced her face— an expression of doubt and disgust. “You're an awful liar. Which is a good thing, I guess, it speaks to your innocence. But now I have to say, and I can’t stress this enough, what the _fuck_.” 

“Oh, how did you know?” Bloodhound rubbed their temples 

“I didn’t, actually. I was joking. But I guess I have a weird way of doing that. Blame it on the flux of interdimensional energy.” 

They grunted and continued to stare forward at a large bug crawling up an exposed wire on the wall. Their cheeks burned with embarrassment. The hunter was private and they were always quiet about their relationships— even platonic ones. There was no need to yap with others about one’s relationship with _others_ . That was gossip. This was a violation that really did make them ill. “It’s _not_ an affair.” They said. 

“Yeah and I'm a well-adjusted and sane individual.” 

“I think you are.” 

“Maybe by your standards. But seriously. If that’s not that… then what is _it_.” 

With a sigh and a light cough, they leaned back and stared at the crumbly ceiling. “We are… friends. That is all.” 

“So you’re wearing your little grandma pin to go out and see a _friend..._ I _bet_ you are expecting to go dinner with him. Maybe a little _croquet_ in the moonlight afterwards. And by croquet I mean— ”

“It’s not a _grandma pin._ It is a _brooch_.” They interrupted quickly, already embarrassed about whatever crass comment she was about to make.

For the first time, Renee appeared genuinely happy. It was strange to see such an expression on a face that would traditionally be frowning. On any other day, and especially in the Ring, she always had a rather depressing aura. If she was happy and not brooding, that was a good thing. If taunting them endlessly brought her joy, they would allow it. “You’re a comedic genius and you don’t even know it.” She announced.

“I’m not telling any jokes… you’re just laughing at me.” 

“Precisely. Maybe I feel a little bad. After all, I did find this poor, wet, mildly-rabid dog on the street. Maybe I shouldn’t be kicking it.” Suddenly, in an odd show of affection, she leaned on them. 

“I’m not… rabid.” 

“Apparently you are— and it’s for one incredible _imbecile_ of a man.” 

“This is why I was so hesitant… I knew you would be cruel to him.” Elliott didn’t deserve a behind-the-back tongue lashing from her, despite his obvious flaws. 

“Look, even if your choice in men is as questionable as your fashion taste, I'm not gonna judge.” She shrugged. The sentiment came as a surprise given her previous comments. “But I would urge you to reconsider, given that you two are competitors in a bloodsport.” 

“That just means any conflicts we have can be resolved in battle.” They couldn’t hide their toothy grin. Part of the comment was in jest— part of it wasn’t.

“I hope that was a joke. Actually nevermind, I’d pay to see you castrate him with that axe.” 

The pair snickered together softly and Renee continued to lean on their shoulder. Bloodhound gazed out of the open window at the messy array of wires and rusty metal that made up the slums. The poorer part of the city was significantly dimmer than the bustling neon streets. It struck the hunter as odd, but not surprising.

“I got one more question,” she started again. 

“Hm?” 

“How did you get so lost? Did he flake on you? Or are you more inept than I realized?” 

“The latter. I… wanted to surprise him. I did not know what to expect coming here. But now our paths have crossed and I am quite thankful that gods haven’t completely abandoned me.” 

“Oh boy,” she sighed “you probably want me to take you to that dumbass, huh?” 

“Yes, if you can,” they blushed and nearly swooned. All the poor hunter wanted was to be back in his warm presence without a care in the world. They were sure that the alien city would feel like home if he was near. 

“Disgusting. But I’m _totally_ not judging.” she stood up “Guess I have to help you.” 

“Why?” They inquired simply with a smug grin— hoping to draw some kind of warmth from her. 

“Because I’m a humanitarian and the dumbass species doesn’t deserve to have its last two viable mates remain separated…. also I kinda want my alone time back.”

Sure, it may have been a typical snarky retort, but the hunter knew that deep down, she just wanted her few friends to be happy. 

* * *

The odd pair trudged through the puddled streets of the midnight slums. There were several times where sirens, screams, and loud bangs made the timid hunter jump forward and reach for the prickly woman’s hand. Each time, they stopped themself knowing that they would never live her taunting down. So instead, they followed behind her closely. A gentle spooked dog trailing behind a tiny, surly black cat— the pair weaved through the artificial wilderness.

Artur flew above and hopped from power line to power line. The hunter only needed to look up to see the shape of their feathered familiar following— it was a small comfort. 

Bloodhound kept their gaze down for the majority of the journey— partially out of preference, partially per their guide’s instruction. _People around here don’t like being stared at. You have a staring problem without the mask on._ The hunter had never noticed it before. In social interaction, the mask provided them a level of control. They could observe and not have to participate. They didn’t have to worry about the assumptions people would make about their appearance. But they didn’t have it now. They were exposed. At least their two identities were separated and the general public was ignorant to the existence of one— but Renee and Elliott weren’t. The hunter hoped their new friends understood how vulnerable they were barefaced.

“Are you sure you know… where he is?” Hound asked nervously and skipped up closer to Renee. 

“Yes. This is the third time you’ve asked.” She turned and glared, with a crooked smirk. 

“Oh… is it?” The hunter didn’t realize how impatient and needy they were being. 

“Mhm. I know where we’re going, okay.” 

“Alright. But… why?” 

“Huh?”

“I thought you two were… unfriendly. Why do you know where he lives?” They asked innocently.

“That’s classified.” She said flatly. 

“Oh.” Bloodhound blinked, dazed and unsure of what to make of that comment. Maybe she didn’t despise him as much as she led on...

The pair continued. Gradually, the decrepit buildings of the area became more polished. Fewer eviction notices decorated the doors and less windows were boarded up. Beyond the littered streets, the shining neon cityscape could be seen in the distance. Abruptly, Renee turned into a grimy alley and Hound followed. They walked a few blocks then turned into another alley, skipping from street to street. If the hunter wasn’t so preoccupied with thinking about Elliott, they would take more time to marvel at the strange labyrinth of brick and steel. 

The alleys weren’t abandoned. Shady figures huddled in pairs and groups. Renee grabbed Bloodhound’s hand and jerked them forward to discourage any staring— implying these figures were more dangerous than the others.

A ragged old man, dressed in an odd costume, sat on a back step. The hunter couldn’t help but to glance over. He grinned and waved— they waved back excitedly.

“He was happy,” they remarked genuinely to Renee a moment later.

“He’s on drugs. Probably. What did I say about staring?” 

“I wasn’t…” they protested but gave up. 

At long last, the couple reached a relatively pristine street, illuminated by neon signs and the lights of passing cars. Tall, beautiful palm trees lined the sidewalk and Bloodhound marveled up at them with relieved gratitude. The trees were the first sign of nature they had seen. The buildings were now markedly more luxurious— made of glass and sleek steel. It amazed the hunter how many people were still out and busy this time of night. It had to be almost 1 now. They got a few odd looks probably because of their messy hair and stained coat. The hunter smiled to themself wondering how the passersby would react if they were wearing their typical battle garb. Renee wasn’t recognized either— probably because she kept her head down and the tattered scarf obscured her face. 

“Here,” she grunted and turned to the door of a large, glass building. 

Bloodhound didn’t follow her and instead turned around to see that Artur was perched expectantly on a post. Their guide noticed their hesitance and turned as well. 

“You can’t bring the bird. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” 

“But—“ 

“You can’t bring it. Sorry.” She said coldly and pushed a large door open. 

They shook their head to Artur and the bird picked at a feather in understanding. They hoped that Elliott had a balcony. 

* * *

The lobby of the apartment building was modern yet cold in its aesthetic. Bloodhound was used to, and preferred, cozy antiques. They wondered what Elliott’s personal abode looked like. Excitedly, they figured they would know soon enough. 

The lobby was vacant, save for two _thinking machines_ that sat behind a counter. Another thinking machine stood by the rows of elevators. It appeared to be a different model designed for security, equipped with a rifle. A beady, red sensor watched the pair as they approached. 

“Is it dangerous?” Bloodhound whispered to Renee

“No. Unless you’re carrying something you shouldn’t be— But I guess we would’ve found that out by now.” 

They gulped and continued to eye the machine with unease. It stared back. 

While the hunter was relatively open minded about the use of technology, the seemingly sapient automatons were something they couldn’t stomach. Technology was created to serve humanity— and humanity served the gods. Those machines were too advanced to be controlled— capable of writing their own code and making their own decisions. What little they knew about robotic engineering was still enough to know that those _things_ had no master. Something that was such a grievous offense to nature deserved to be destroyed...

The sleek doors slid open with a _ding._

“Dogs first.” She gestured to the elevator. 

Bloodhound entered hesitantly. The idea of an elevator was frightening, but not unfamiliar. They looked around the tiny space nervously and noticed there were no buttons or control panel. Renee slumped against the back wall with a sigh. 

“No buttons…” they murmured observantly. 

“Yeah, ‘cuz we’re going straight to the top.”

A small observational lobby led to the entry of the penthouse. Bloodhound wandered to the glass and looked down below. The view was unlike anything they had ever seen. What had to be millions of glittering lights decorated the towers that now looked small from above. The shining veins of cars flowed in all directions. Renee was already at the door ready to ring. Quickly, the hunter left the view to join her. They weren’t ready yet. This moment was intense and they wanted to take it slow. 

“ _Wait_ ,” they whispered and pushed Renee’s hand off of the buzzer “I need a moment.” 

“ _Ew_. No you do not. He’s probably drunk and naked anyway.” She shoved their hand away and jammed on the button. 

Bloodhound audibly gulped and adjusted their ascot, earning them a stern glare from Renee. “You’re ridiculous,” she hissed. 

They paid no mind to her incessant jabs— _Elliott_ was the only thing they could focus on. Sweet, _sweet_ Elliott. They hoped he was doing well and that his injuries were fully healed. It had been three whole weeks, so that was probably the case. It had also been three whole weeks of obsessing on their end— going back and forth in their mind about him. Three whole weeks of doing nothing but writing poetry about him. Three whole weeks that were about to come to an end in the next minute.

Their heart sped and naturally their breathing grew belabored. A tiny wheeze wormed its way through their throat but thankfully, at least for the moment, they didn’t have a cough.

“You look like you're going to have a stroke.” 

Bloodhound shook their head and ignored her, continuing to stare at the door. 

A minute passed.

“Ugh.” She grunted and jammed on the button again. 

The muffled voice of a man yelped, ’ _Coming!’_ The hunter’s breath hitched. The handle slowly shifted and unlocked. Bloodhound wanted to look away out of pure stress and excitement. 

_The door opened._

“Come look what the cat dragged it… a lost dog. Dunno why they’re dressed like that. Don’t ask.” Renee snarked. 

Elliott had the most dumbfounded, _adorable,_ totally-shocked expression. Seeing his cute face all surprised and neatly-shaven made all of their previous torment worth it. Even if things didn’t go according to the hunter’s plan, the _Nornir_ always had a way of weaving life out. Things were _exactly_ how they were meant to be. They should’ve never questioned their fate. The divine sign they were hoping for _did_ come— and it came in the form of Renee. All they needed to do was open up to her and then she brought them right to the front door of their beloved— 

_friend_. Their heart fluttered and they grinned at him in a stupor, totally incapable of speaking. 

“ _Well, fancy seein’ you folks here_ ,” He smirked and nodded to each of them. “I wish I had my cowboy hat ‘cuz I would tip it right now.”

He was so _silly and stupid and he didn’t even make any sense_. Their heart fluttered faster. 

“Oh, shut up.” Renee snarked flatly. “I'm not in the mood to yak about your cowboy fantasy. Just take your dog and go.” 

Elliott paid little mind to her and instead watched them expectantly, amber eyes glittering. The smitten hunter couldn’t speak, not even a ‘hello’, so instead, they leapt into his embrace. They didn’t care that Renee would see their desperation and inevitably chide them for it. 

They were so excited and relieved that they nearly knocked him over. “Ohohohoh, I missed you too!” He exclaimed with a blissful chuckle. The pair squeezed each other tight. The tension of being separated for three weeks was finally released. 

“Please save me,” they murmured into his shoulder. 

“What?” 

They pulled back from pressing a little _too_ affectionately into his neck and then quickly wiped away a stray tear. They could smile for him, at least. “I hate it _here…_ in your city. Everything is so… _undarlegt._ I’ve been having...a hard time so far.”

“Aww. It’s okay… hopefully, we can change that now. ” Elliott did sound mildly disappointed about their disdain for the city. He probably wanted them to love it. Maybe, in time, they could try to. The wilderness would always be home, though. “Tell me about all of your troubles... inside” 

“Mm.” They hummed pleasantly and pulled him close again for another hug. He felt so _warm_ and smelled even better than they remembered. 

The pair had completely forgotten about the friend who was still standing there, observing the two with morbid curiosity. “Now I’m not sure if I should be leaving you alone with him. Feels kinda wrong—” she said flatly. 

Bloodhound smiled nervously and Elliott frowned. “Hey! Be nice,” he whined.

“Oh, I am and you better be too.”

“I will! Of course, I will!” 

“Alright.” Renee rolled her eyes. “I’m outta here. Remember to leave room for Jesus… or Thor or whatever.” She threw up an awkward hand wave. 

Bloodhound half expected her to walk off through a portal. Instead, she just slinked away like a cat, disappearing in the luxe elevator. After waving back, they turned to their sweet suitor with a slap-happy grin. He was looking _terribly_ cute and snuggly in that hoodie— with chocolate locks to match his teddy bear-like appearance. It would be a crime to _not_ snuggle him. They snaked their arms around him again and rested their head on his chest. That was easy to do now that he was on both of his feet, he stood taller. 

“Geez. I guess you _really_ missed me.” Even though he was sympathetic, he sounded quite delighted. 

“I did. But I am also very tired.” They contemplated pretending to pass out just so he could carry them to bed. 

Elliott ran his fingers through their hair. “You feel kinda… damp,” he remarked. 

“I got stuck in the rain,” 

“Oh, _no_. What happened?” 

The hunter hesitated. They didn’t want to reveal such foolish weakness to him. Then again, he wouldn’t judge. He had been weak in their presence before. The pair had trusted and cared for each other. 

They tried to sigh, ready to divulge their trials in the city, only to have a broken cough come out. A spike of pain stabbed its way through their chest. They gripped onto Elliott for support as they tried to desperately suppress it. 

It looked like they wouldn’t have a choice in revealing their physical weakness. They didn’t want to. In an ideal world, they would never have to. The last thing they wanted was to be some kind of strange burden to him. 

“ _Woah_ ,” he mumbled. “That doesn’t sound good. Are you okay?” Worry was an expression they didn’t ever want to see him wear. They wanted him to be happy and carefree all of the time. It’s what he deserved.

Not wanting to speak and possibly induce another coughing fit, they simply shook their head _no._

“Can you breathe?” He asked quickly. 

They nodded. They could, but just barely— their breaths had to be shallow and quick. Deep breaths caused coughs and long breaths caused pain.

“I’m okay,” they whispered.

“I dunno if I believe that.” He grinned nervously in an attempt to cheer them up. “I’m gonna have to keep a close eye on you.” 

Tenderly, he guided them inside.

* * *

The apartment was spacious and surprisingly clean. What they had read about in books couldn’t prepare them for the real thing. When the hunter hobbled in, they were met with giant glass panes on the other far side of the living space. The pristine glass revealed the sprawling neon sea of the city below. Slightly to the right, a spiral staircase led to an upper floor. To the left, the living space bled into a modern kitchen, equipped with strange devices and panels. Every corner was adorned with lavish decor. Dim amber light flooded the large room, giving it a homey, yet artificial feel. For a moment, they swiveled around like an owl, wide-eyed.

“It’s not much,” he babbled ”but it’s home. I’m lookin’ to move into a bigger one soon.”

They frowned but didn’t let him see. This was _much_ more than one person needed. The television was _gargantuan._ More than half of the appliances were totally unnecessary— a human only needs a pot and a fire. (They were sure that Elliott rarely cooked for himself anyway.) The paintings of blocky colors were nonsensical and _stupid._ And the pool outside was odd to them given there had to be a park with a pond somewhere. In addition.... there didn't appear to be a single book, but an awful lot of _stuff_ . To think it ‘wasn’t _much’_ was ridiculous. The hunter had never seen such a gross display of unnecessary luxury— they figured the people living in the subways hadn’t either. It was particularly troublesome that Elliott seemed to be one of the _few_ living at the top of the glittering towers. 

Even if he had made the comment as an attempt to impress them, it really just exposed the fact that he was extremely privileged _._

Their stomach churned _._ Surely, the man they adored so much wasn’t like the _others—_ savage and selfish? With the persistent pain in their chest, the hunter simply didn’t want to have to think about such troubles. He was kind and generous deep down, _they knew it. Surely…_

“Wanna tour? Or do you just wanna hit the sack?” He asked with a nervous smile. 

They weren’t sure what _hitting the sack_ meant— they decided that a tour would be fine. 

“Tour,” they wheezed softly with a forced grin. Bearing witness to his obscene wealth wasn’t something they wanted to do either. For the first time… they were feeling _uncomfortable_ in his presence, but they didn’t know how to speak up. 

As Elliott strode in front of them, the hunter followed quietly and slowly. He showed off the kitchen and babbled on about the oven, the microwave, the giant fridge, the transmaterializer, and the atomizer. 

Bloodhound sheepishly stood and hugged themself, nodding along absently. Their mind wandered and they worried about Artur being able to fly up to his apartment. He then stepped down into the living space and talked about the giant television and luxury, quilted couch. He pointed to the glass wall and remarked that he had the best view of the city— according to tons of real estate magazines. Apparently, he didn’t like it because of the wind being strong sometimes. 

_How could he be ungrateful?_

Prickling anxiety made its way up their spine. _This_ was _different_ — different than the soft mornings in their cabin. _Elliott_ was acting differently. He had an _arrogance_ about him now that didn’t seem to exist three weeks ago. Maybe they didn’t know him like they thought they did.

For certain, the sensitive side of him was different— he didn’t even notice the hunter’s scowl or the dark tired circles that framed their eyes. Instead, he just continued _talking and talking_ about _himself_ and all of his _things_ — paying no mind to their exhausted state and obviously miserable expression. 

He motioned to an open threshold.

“This is the bathroom. Well, the main one. There’s another one upstairs.”

The bathroom was about as large as the hunter’s entire bottom floor of their cabin. A large shower encased by crystalline glass sat in one corner. A deep bathtub sat in the middle room. A huge mirror extended the full length of the wall and stood over two marble sinks. At least forty bright lights lined the mirror. 

“Why... do you need such a big mirror?” They murmured.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he giggled, just as preoccupied with his own reflection as they were with theirs.

In their entire life, the antiquated hunter had never seen such a pristine, clear, and bright reflection of themself. 

In childhood, they had to rely on peering into ponds and streams. In adulthood, they didn’t bother to look. It was an image that deeply troubled them— so they avoided it. Hating their reflection could be seen as being ungrateful in the eyes of the gods. To avoid offending the divine pantheon, they avoided themself. And it’s not like their appearance mattered— the mask made that true. 

They couldn’t look away now. It was so unexpected— so _shocking—_ to be met with their reflection. 

They _hated_ it. Now, more than ever. 

Bloodhound wanted to reach through the mirror and strangle the deformed alien that was staring at them. It was a gangly creature wearing a crumpled trench coat. Its face was _disfigured_ by scars. Its hair was greasy and matted. Its skin looked so _dirty_ with freckles. It looked aged and stressed and _revolting._ It looked misplaced and miserable. The image was an absolute blow to any confidence they had a minute ago. _How could they be so brazen with Elliott when they looked like...that? That despicable, grotesque... thing?_

Out of sheer terror, they turned and cowered away from the nightmarish reflection. They couldn’t deal with all of this right now. Between the city and Elliott and the cough and their _awful_ appearance, it was too much to handle— too much discomfort that had quickly turned into _pain._

“Hey.” Elliott said tenderly. “You good?” 

_No_ . Bloodhound wasn’t _good_ . They were trapped in a cold steel labyrinth— in the lair of a man they were slowly starting to realize they knew nothing about. They had been rained on, chewed up and spat out by this evil city all because they innocently wanted to impress _him_ . All they were doing was _trying._

And now they were being forced to look at a pitiful, disgusting creature in this circus _mirror_ . It was a creature who had spent a life performing acts— a life spent in worship and solitude— but ultimately it was only fooling _itself._

All they wanted was the comfort of their bird. All they wanted was to scratch its beak and gently run their fingers along those silky, black feathers. All they wanted to do was go _home_ and be surrounded by their collection of pretty bones, gorgeous wilderness, and a million fairytales. 

_Things they understood._

They didn’t understand the city. They didn’t understand Elliott and how he lived. They didn’t understand why their _face_ had to be so **_ugly_ ** _._

They didn’t understand _why_ the gods were doing this. It felt like torture— to be overwhelmed so suddenly all at once. As far as they knew, they didn’t do anything wrong. What could possibly warrant this kind of punishment? 

They opened their mouth to scream from the rising panic, but a raspy cough came out instead. Violent bursts of chest pain caused them to collapse.

“Oh god, oh geez... Are you okay? C-c-can I get you water or something? Maybe uh, uh some tea? W-would that make you feel better?” 

Bloodhound covered their face and refused to speak.

Elliott was so worried. He rushed over and knelt down beside them, taking hold of their arm. The meager touch quickly turned into full-on holding as they melted into his embrace. He held them as they _cried--_ exhausted and stressed from the weight of their unfamiliar situation. He held them as the wretches from sobs and coughs racked their body. He held them and didn’t say a word about it. He had taken to resting his chin on their head while he rubbed their arm. They didn’t dare to look up at him out of pure _shame._ This was so _shameful._ They had never been so humiliated and it was even worse because it was all their own doing. 

They weren’t the noble and cunning hunter he thought they were. 

They were a cowardly, naive child— trapped in the body of a maladjusted adult. All of this stress made that painfully obvious. 

“ _Shhh_ ,” Elliott purred, “it’s okay.” He squeezed their arm. They could feel him press into the crown of their head, almost like a kiss. “Everything is okay,” he murmured into their hair.

The lonesome hunter had never experienced such an embrace until Elliott came along. It was deliciously sweet and perfectly warm. He was quite skilled when it came to giving comfort hugs...

* * *

Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity as the hunter tried to calm down and collect their scattered pieces. Eventually, they managed to pick everything up and get to a point where their breathing was deep and even. The pair had remained entangled on the cold bathroom floor. Not once did Elliott tell them to stand up. Not once did he tell them to stop crying. Not once did he demand, expect or suggest something of them. Instead, he just held them and murmured on about how everything was okay. 

It still wasn’t _okay_ because now, the hunter was a shameful wreck in his eyes. They were positive that any good thought he once had of them was gone— erased by their childish weakness. How could he admire someone who was this _fragile_ ? How could he admire someone so… _ugly_? 

“Im sorry,” they whispered into his chest. They were apologizing for the shameful fit and for being so unattractive.

“Don’t apologize. Don’t _ever_ apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He almost scoffed. 

“B-but— ”

“ _Stop_. You did _nothin’_ wrong. You just had a bad day. And then somethin’ happens and it-it pushes you over the edge. I’ve been there before. Probably more times than you have and _definitely_ more times on this bathroom floor. You think I have it together? ‘Cuz I don’t.” 

_A smile._

The hunter smiled to themself and nestled into his chest more. They praised the gods for sending the perfect person for that moment— and, well, he was just perfect in general. Despite his stammering and frivolous attitude, he was remarkable at being so tender. It was something Bloodhound didn’t expect, at all, but his kindness was more than appreciated. Earlier, they were almost convinced that Elliott was different than what he was three weeks ago. Now, they knew that wasn’t the case...

They fidgeted with the drawstring of his hoodie then finally pulled back. It took a concentrated effort, but they forced themself to look him in the eye— not turn away or cover their face. Those glittering amber eyes gazed upon their wretched figure with nothing but admiration and softness. 

“And I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but… you shouldn’t cry. You’re too damn gorgeous for that."

They were harkened back to that _night_ in the cabin— the night when he told them they were beautiful and then kissed them so impulsively. His words meant little because they clearly remembered how he made them feel— _beautiful._

Bloodhound wanted that feeling again. 

They leaned in. 

Something stopped them. 

Something cosmic.

Perhaps _Verðandi,_ telling the hunter it was the wrong time. 

So instead, they gave him an awkward hug.

Naturally, he hugged back with a light chuckle. “I'm the one that should be apologizin’ honestly. I-I shoulda been more sensitive to your mood instead of parading you around my place. I-I-I didn’t know you were f-feelin’ this bad. A-and maybe I shoulda said something about the mirror...” 

“No, Elliott. I… didn't say anything. How could you have known?” 

“Guess you’re right. But now you know how I feel when you apologize.” 

They nodded. “I understand.” 

He took their hand and played with it, curling their fingers and tracing their light scars. “I think you need some TLC— some self-care if you will, maybe a hair makeover too. Did I tell you I used to be a hairdresser?” 

They snorted “ _No.”_

 _“_ Well, that’s not true— actually. It’s just always been a dream of mine. And your hair is _beautiful_.” 

Bloodhound was going to protest but took the compliment with a proud grin. “Perhaps the hair... _dressing_ can be saved for tomorrow. Tonight though… I would like some… _self-care_.” They intoned weakly.

“A bath maybe? I feel awful that you’ve been trapped in those clothes. They’re really cute but…”

“Wrinkled and dirty and damp… I know.” They said with a sigh and pulled off the ascot, defeated. “A bath sounds… nice.” 

Even though they couldn’t help thinking about a bath for two, tonight wasn’t the night. Elliott respected that and picked up on their tone.“I-I-I don’t have to be included! I’ll just go upstairs and be the good boy that Renee wants me to be… I don’t mind.” He assured them with a smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“ _No need to thank me_.” He faked their accent, mocking them playfully for their humble manners. 

The hunter giggled softly. 

Elliott reached out to their cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb “Aw see? Now doesn’t that feel better?” 

“Yes.”   
  


* * *

The cooling scent of herbal water eased the hunter’s tired lungs. Bath salts had been used in the water despite their initial hesitance. Elliott had insisted on getting them every relaxing luxury he could find. He was right about bath salts— they were therapeutic and calming. 

They slipped a foot, then a leg, the two legs into the deep, warm water. A bath was something rare to the hunter, yet nostalgic. They had taken plenty of baths in childhood, but all of them were in cold, natural bodies of water— sans bath salts, candles, and hot, sweet tea. The tea their companion had made was from the jug of the artificial store-bought kind that was more sugary syrup than herbs. The gesture mattered more to the hunter. Everything he had done thus far was in service of making them feel at home. It was so _heartwarming._

Elliott had fussed and fussed over them, wanting to make sure they were comfortable. Even if they were reluctant in accepting his pampering, it felt nice to be taken care of. He insisted on taking care of them in the same way that they were once so hospitable to him. The tables were now reversed and they were _his_ guest . Bloodhound was self-conscious about being some kind of burden or chore— but Elliott had seemed to take great delight in being their host. 

The warmth from the water and the minerals from the salts untangled the knots of stress that had lived in the hunter’s back for so long. They groaned and sunk deeper into the water with a tiny smile. Now, they understood why one would need to have a shower _and_ a bathtub. 

Elliott hadn’t asked about the details of their trip. He deduced that things hadn’t gone so well. He was right and Bloodhound didn’t want to dwell on the past.

It didn’t matter anyway. Everything was good right now.

Except for their embarrassment regarding earlier. 

Bloodhound winced to themself at the thought. Despite their sensitive nature— they _weren’t_ a _crier—_ and they weren't a crier like _that._ Exposing such vulnerability had been humiliating, especially given that it was on the bathroom floor of and front of the man they were trying to court. 

At that moment they simply couldn’t compose themself. They had been uneasy about their situation and shocked by the mirror. It felt like running for your life in the Ring— the same kind of panic induced from the fear of immediate pain or death. That, coupled with their exhaustion made for a rather sudden and intense display. 

Elliott insisted that he didn’t judge. 

And as far as the hunter could tell, he didn’t. If he had judged them, he wouldn’t have held them so tenderly. He wouldn’t have said all the comforting things he did. If he had judged— he would’ve been embarrassed and probably would’ve stepped out of the room. _But he didn’t._ Their companion refused to turn away. 

He had weathered the uncomfort and pain with them— all while embracing and accepting them. 

That was a reassuring thought. 

It was still embarrassing. 

All of this rumination was keeping the hunter from enjoying their bath. In an innocent motion, they shook their head, trying to shake the thoughts out and then sunk under the water.   
  


* * *

After changing into the clothes their host had left, Bloodhound briskly left the bathroom, not wanting to risk a glance in the mirror. They climbed up the spiral stairs. If they weren’t so tired, they would poke around the bottom level more with childish curiosity.

“Feel better?” Elliott looked up from his phone with a grin.

They grunted a _yes._

As much as they enjoyed engaging in small talk with him, Bloodhound was too exhausted to respond properly and opted for flopping down on the bed. They crawled under the comforter and found that his bed was a lot more squishy than theirs. It was large too— big enough to comfortably fit three, maybe four people. It would be easy for the pair to sleep separate and distant from each other. Neither wanted that. 

_Obviously_. 

Obviously because the pair quickly found their way into an embrace. 

“ _Huddle for warmth,”_ Bloodhound whispered softly. 

“Mhm. Yeah.” Elliott hummed. 

It wasn’t a ‘huddle for warmth‘— it was a snuggle and an obviously intimate one at that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boyy, I hope that angst wasn't too intense. There was some fluff (and quite a bit to come) so forgive me for hurting hound like that 
> 
> I also have a playlist for the vibes for this fic. If you're craving some more of my miragehound its right here babey ;) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63ffOTC8rfzAJ52VNmRPSt?si=X_OGbxwZQK6nFrIeSRG-uQ
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always. Stay safe <3333


	14. Iced Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oohhh sick fic time. Now it’s Bloodhound’s turn to be taken care of :3c  
> sorry about whumpin’ them up so much I just want to explore Elliott's sweet side 
> 
> Let’s please normalize men bein sensitive and nurturing,,, thank you 
> 
> Also Artur (the raven lol) is enby ! Now I'm kinda headcanoning that hound gave them they/them pronouns. I went back and changed their pronouns from chapter 3 :) Hopefully that was the only instance i referred to them with a gender (i think it was lol)

Elliott thought it was some kind of dream when he woke up to a warm body next to his. And it wasn’t just any warm body— it was his beloved _hunter._ He nearly fainted when they showed up at his door with Renee. It was the last thing he expected that night. After the three weeks, he was almost starting to think they would never speak to him again. And as always, they defied his expectations. There was a lot more he wanted to do than just hug… 

He was still unsure of how exactly they got to Solace and how exactly they found Renee, but he wouldn’t ask because of how awfully upset they were last night. It broke his heart to see them hurting. He wasn’t sure what exactly spurred on their reaction but he figured it was a combination of things. Bloodhound had said that being in the city was stressing them out so he assumed it was mostly that. Elliott didn’t mind at all. He knew they were probably embarrassed about it, but very little could change the way he felt about them. He would always adore them, good and bad. And besides, everyone has rough days. He knew for a fact that his breakdowns were a _lot_ messier. Hound had nothing to be ashamed of about… 

In his mind, he tried to string together all the words of comfort he planned to say.

He watched them as they slept. It was nearly noon and as much as he didn't want to be demanding of them, it would be best if they woke up to avoid falling into a bad routine. Elliott placed a ginger hand on their back. 

They were _really_ warm—

_burning up almost._

He eased up slowly and craned over his companion. They were fast asleep, curled up like a dormouse, and their cheeks were flushed deep red. _Cute_ , but mildly concerning. He quickly came to the conclusion that it was probably a light fever. It wouldn’t be a surprise that, after all of the stress of being outside wet and cold, the poor hunter had caught a bug. 

Elliott felt bad for them but at the same time, he felt a guilty bit of relief. Being sick meant that Bloodhound would probably want to stay for a few days. He wondered if there was some kind of divine force behind the circumstances that kept the pair stuck in each other's company. 

As if on cue, they groaned and rolled over, facing him. 

Slowly, they woke up and reached a clammy hand out. Elliott took it in his own.

“‘Morning.” He cooed.

They whimpered and glassy eyes looked up in discomfort. “I feel… hot.” 

It would be inappropriate to make a joke, so he refrained and instead gently pulled the covers off of them as they sat up. He watched with great concern as they hacked up several ragged coughs then shakily combed through their hair. 

“Yeah, you felt hot. I think you might be sick. You sound like it too.” 

Bloodhound grunted in affirmation then turned to him. Elliott’s heart melted as they forced a weak smile, trying to assure him they were okay. “Mhm. Yeah…” 

Elliott stretched his arms. “Aw geez. Welp. Looks like I’m taking care of your ass now. _Ohhhh_ , how the tables have turned.” 

“You don’t—“ 

“Shut up,” he quickly interrupted. “I absolutely _do_. It’s no biggie. You’re gonna be my little patient and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.” 

They let out the small sigh with a smile and fell back down on the pillow. 

“So what’s gonna be your first request?” He piped a little too excitedly, ready to do _literally_ anything for them. 

Deep in thought, Bloodhound stared up at the ceiling. “I want… Artur.” 

“Your bird?” 

“Raven.” 

“Yeah, yeah… he’s not here?” 

They cleared their throat— trying to force down an impending cough. “No… Renee said I could not bring them.” 

“Oh, oh… right, well… I’ll find a way to get them up here.” Of course, he would do anything but a part of himself worried about the bird pooping on his couch or hiding his keys… or something. Artur seemed to be well-trained, but he had no idea what letting a wild bird in his home entailed exactly.

“Thank you,” Bloodhound said gently and rewarded him with a smile. 

“Anything else? Hungry? Somethin’ to drink maybe?” 

Looking sleepy, they shook their head. “I think… a nap.” 

Elliott slipped out of bed to go downstairs. “Alrighty, but one sec…” 

“Hm?”

He couldn’t help the childish excitement that came from getting to play ‘doctor’. The current situation gave him an excuse to be parental and nurturing with the hunter. It was an odd desire that certainly wasn’t ‘macho’ or ‘manly’, but he figured it was a result of being left as an only child tasked with the emotional labor of supporting his grieving mother. He adapted and developed a finely-tuned sense of _caring._

After quickly hopping downstairs, he rummaged through his meager medicine cabinet, looking for a thermometer. Eventually, he found it and came across some cough syrup too. He nabbed a glass of ice water just in case.

A raspy dry cough sounded from across his large apartment. The sound tore through his heartstrings. Bloodhound had the cough ever since they showed up, yet back in the cabin, there were no signs of it. Elliott desperately hoped that meant whatever condition they had was transient. He would nurse them back to health, they would feel better and _everything would be fine._

_He hoped._

Emerging from the steps, he was met with the pitiful sight of the hunter looking absolutely miserable, sitting up and staring at the wall. _Poor, poor thing._ He doted over them in his mind, secretly wanting to spend the whole day holding and kissing them. He knew he wasn’t allowed to, but _this_ was good enough. The weeks away from them had given him time to reflect on his predicament and Elliott made the decision that he would wait— he would wait decades if he had to— he would wait for _them_ to advance things. It would be more meaningful considering they were the one who was so wary of relationships. He would wait until they were sure they could trust him. 

“Hey, you. Got some ice water and medicine.” He set the glass and bottle on the nightstand and crawled into bed next to them, thermometer in hand. “Still workin’ on gettin’ the bird, though, sorry.” 

That elicited a tiny smile. 

“Oh and I got this too.” he flashed the thermometer with a warm grin. “Open up.”

* * *

Elliott itched out of boredom. This wasn’t exactly how he imagined spending time with Bloodhound in the city. On a day like this, he would usually be at his bar or be out shopping, meeting fans, meeting friends or even training. He envisioned doing all of that with them. The pair would go out on the town as totally-platonic best friends and then finish off the evening doing totally-platonic best friend things— maybe in the pool...

Now, it was nearly 4, he had taken to aimlessly browsing his phone and keeping a close eye on his sick guest. The hunter had fallen back asleep and much to his delight, they were curled towards him. 

Elliott slipped out of the bed, deciding to go downstairs to stretch his legs. 

As he walked to the bathroom he heard a strange tapping sound. Turning to the glass, he found that a big black bird was standing expectantly on the patio, pressed up against the glass. _Artur._

Delighted that he wouldn’t have to try and chase the thing down, he opened the glass door and they waddled in.

“Be quiet,” he hissed and put a finger to his mouth “and don’t mess with my shit.” 

The bird blinked up at him, then continued on their way, walking around his living room and poking around much as a human would. Elliott didn’t know why he was trying to talk to a bird, but they seemed to understand what Bloodhound said. He left the raven, hoping they wouldn’t cause too much trouble. 

Upon entering the bathroom, he was met with a neatly folded pile of the clothes that sat on the sink counter. It was the outfit the hunter had worn the previous evening. A pang of pity nagged at his chest. They _really_ did try to look all metropolitan and cute— just for him. A golden pin sat on the folded scarf and he picked it up, examining it with loving curiosity. It was an owl encrusted with tiny rubies and citrine stones. Such an interesting choice in accessory had to mean something. 

He set the pin aside and carried the clothes to his laundry room, losing sight of his original plan of using the bathroom. _Of course,_ he would clean up their outfit so they could have a proper chance to wear it again.

* * *

Elliott didn’t take too much time away from his guest. After heading back upstairs, golden pin in hand, he was glad Artur had found their companion. The raven watched them with great concern, perched on the nightstand. 

His phone buzzed on the table, startling Artur. He hastily grabbed it and checked. 

It was a text. From “evil witch <|:^( ”

_ >hey _

That was it, but it was obvious she was going to ask about Hound. 

_ >hey, what’s up ? _He responded promptly and settled back down on the bed, next to his patient. 

_ >I was going to ask you. You better be being good… _

_ >I am!! Houndie is sick anyway _

Renee responded quickly. 

_ >Houndie? Really. _

_ >yeah lol _

It took a minute for her response so he laid back and looked over his guest with an involuntary grin. _God_ , it was so cute how they curled up. 

_ >Tell houndie that I will kill them if they die of tuberculosis. Also we should meet up. _

Elliott was surprised but he also wasn’t. She was snarky, surly and definitely an _evil witch—_ but an evil witch who longed for companionship. He felt a movement by his leg and looked down to see that Bloodhound was slowly waking up. 

_ >Can’t believe ur asking me to hang out. Talk later tho baby just woke up _

_ >Ew weirdo. _

He snickered softly and put down his phone. 

Artur jumped onto the bed and awkwardly walked across the duvet. Elliott winced, not exactly thrilled about a wild creature rubbing their dirty feathers on his covers. He hoped the bird wasn’t disease-ridden at the very least. Bloodhound eased awake and sat up with more energy than earlier. Their expression lit up instantly upon seeing their beloved pet. 

“ _Oh, Artur, ég saknaði þín,”_ they whispered with mirth, reaching a hand out. The bird eagerly nuzzled their beak into their friend’s palm. 

Elliott didn’t say anything and just watched the pair reunite. It was endearing. Bloodhound was _especially_ endearing— so maybe it was worth having to wash his covers later. 

They turned to him with the widest, silliest grin. “Thank you, Elliott. Thank you.” Their voice was soft and hollow. It was clear they were trying to avoid a cough. The raven croaked blithely.

“No thanks needed.” 

“I will still thank you.” Bloodhound rewarded him by leaning on his arm. He leaned on them in kind.

“I don’t want to offend… but can you get them off my bed now?” He asked meekly. 

“Ah, of course.” They snapped and gestured to the nightstand. Dutifully, the raven flew off the bed. 

“How are you feeling? How’s your fever?” Much like a parent would, he cupped his hand over their forehead, brushing away their choppy bangs. They felt slightly cooler. His doting made them beam and giggle. 

“Better. Definitely better.” 

“Good!” 

Their comfort meant the world. He was so thankful. That notion was suddenly shattered by the distressing cough that shook his partner’s entire frame. Elliott winced. “Are you— are you sure?” 

“Yes.” Bloodhound cleared their throat. 

He decided not to push any further. Wanting to distract them (and himself) from their illness, he picked the elegant, little pin off from his nightstand. “I put your clothes in the wash. I… don’t want you to lose this. ”

“Oh… thank you.” Gingerly they took the jewelry and graced him with _that_ sweet, perfect smile— a smile Elliott was sure was only reserved for him. 

“What is... it?” He wasn’t quite sure _what_ he was asking.

“It was my mother’s… a pendant to a necklace of hers… that I made into a brooch.” 

His heart swelled. What Bloodhound had chosen to reveal to him was a tiny piece of their past— a past they were so secretive about. It meant that they were starting to trust him just a bit more. 

“It's beautiful.” He smiled. And they smiled back. “Thanks, by the way.” 

They eyed him with confusion. “Hm?”

“Thanks for tellin’ me that. About your mom. Means a lot.”

“Ah.” They nodded slowly with a polite grin, visibly unsure about what exactly he meant. 

“A-a-anyway. Are you hungry? Maybe some ice cream? My mom always let me have that when I was sick.” 

“Iced… _cream_?” 

“Oh my god. You don’t know what ice cream is?” 

“No…” 

Elliott couldn’t help but chuckle with pure _joy._ He was gonna be the one to take their ice cream virginity. _Hell yeah_. “We're absolutely having _iced cream_ for dinner, then.” 

“Mm. Okay.” Bloodhound lied back down, still gripping the brooch, and nuzzled into his leg. It was such an intimate, affectionate gesture. He tried to justify that it was just because they were sick and needy for snuggles, but it certainly seemed so _romantic._ This was so _incredibly_ hard. He desperately wished that he could just give up the charade already. Doing all of this cute domestic stuff and being totally infantile adults made it feel like the pair had been married for several years. 

_But this was good enough._

Sitting in bed, having ice cream for dinner was infinitely better than being away from them. _He was so close yet so far— but being so close was better than nothing._

* * *

Reluctant yet determined, Elliott left his patient to run to the convenience store. He asked them what flavor they would want, naming a few examples. They settled on chocolate. Of course, he wasn’t going to get _only_ chocolate— that would be boring. He was probably going to buy every single pint in the store. They deserved an ice cream feast. Their ‘first time’ had to be special. He hummed to himself while looking through the frosty glass. After swinging the door open, he quickly realized that buying every single pint wouldn’t be entirely possible— so he settled on as much as he could carry, which was about seven different pints all of different flavors.

The cashier gave him a strange look but thankfully, didn’t recognize him. Elliott liked to dedicate a generous amount of time to fans and he was notorious for that— but right now, he had to get home as quickly as possible. This ice cream was _urgent_.

Briskly walking home, he made a little prayer to whoever Bloodhound’s gods were that the precious cargo wouldn’t melt too much. 

“Honey! I’m home!” he jested.

“ _Stop_ ,” Bloodhound called back weakly, but he could tell that they were smiling because of the lilt in their voice. 

With an unabashed snicker, he raced up the steps with one bag in hand. He had grabbed their chocolate and his plain vanilla— the extra pints were put away for later. Plain vanilla was the definition of boring, but it made him feel nostalgic. 

“Not to be dramatic or anything… but this will probably be the best thing you’ll ever eat.” He couldn’t fathom going through life, never having something as velvety and delicious as the processed-to-perfection, frozen, sugary cream— or a dairy-free substitute, at least. 

“Oh… okay.” Bloodhound sat up. Despite napping all day, they still looked exhausted. Elliott hoped the dessert would lift their spirits like it did his. 

He handed them the pint and spoon and crawled up to join them. “Ah, this is just the best…” he sighed blissfully, pulling the top off of the pint. He watched his companion do the same with hesitance— like an alien unfamiliar with the customs of humans. _It was so fucking cute._ “Watch,” he murmured and took a spoon to the smooth surface of the cream— then took a bite. 

Bloodhound nodded along innocently and held the spoon with a firm grip. They dipped into their ice cream with ease. Elliott made extra-sure to watch closely for their reaction upon the first bite. 

Naturally, their eyes widened and they hummed. 

“It’s so sweet…” the hunter finally concluded.

“Yeah. I'm bein’ a bad parent. This isn’t exactly a proper meal.”

They took a larger bite, then another. Their spoon wasn't big enough to hold the amount of chocolate ice cream they wanted to consume. Their ravenous attitude was evident that they liked it.

“You never had ice cream as a kid, huh.” It was more of a statement than a question. He was gently trying to coax out a piece of information about their past.

“No. Unfortunately.” They replied quickly in order to shovel back another spoonful.

“Geez. What’d you have for dessert, then?”

“Jam on survival ration biscuits.” They said flatly, then grinned. 

“Yummy.” He jested. _A very interesting answer._

“Perhaps that is the reason…why I have an affinity for sweets now. This iced cream, though… is new,” they mused and played with the spoon.

_Iced cream. They were still calling it iced cream. Fucking adorable._

“Do ‘ya like it?” Elliott asked despite knowing the answer.

They took another large bite. “Mm. _Mhm_.”

“Don’t eat too much. You'll get a stomach ache.” He advised with a chuckle. This was perfect. Everything was perfect. Life was pretty damn good right now. He took a large spoonful of vanilla.

“Can I try yours?” They asked suddenly with a blissful smile. 

“Of course.” Elliott would be exchanging germs with a sick person but he wasn’t about to tell them _no—_ especially when they were so _effortlessly_ perfect and cute. He would give them the whole _world—_ even if it meant getting a little sick. 

They took a tiny scoop. A pleasant hum came from their sealed lips as they sucked on the spoon.

“Which one do you like better?” 

“Mine.” Bloodhound graced him with a sheepish grin. 

“Yeah. Vanilla is… pretty vanilla.” 

The pair giggled. 

The rest of the evening was spent feasting on the _iced cream_ and enjoying small talk. The pair talked about everything and nothing. Elliott mentioned how Renee had asked him about meeting up. At first, the hunter was hesitant about joining, but eventually seemed to warm up to the idea. He felt elated that he was slowly drawing them out of their shell. In addition Bloodhound’s mood was markedly improved so, hopefully, they were on a track to fast recovery. He checked their temperature again and it was lower— not even technically a fever anymore. 

The bliss was interrupted. 

Bloodhound had taken too sharp of a breath, resulting in a coughing fit— this time interspersed with ragged wheezes. He offered them the cough syrup, hoping it could help, but they refused. Elliott looked on in distress. He felt so powerless and _weak_ — totally incapable of helping his friend because they either refused his help or he didn't know _how._ Something about the cough seemed serious. So far, he hadn’t said anything, but now, he decided that was going to change. 

Eventually it ceased and they relaxed back down on the pillows

“I’m really worried about your… body— your breathing, y’know? It doesn't sound good when you cough like that and sh-shortness of breath… is an alarming symptom.”

“It’s just the city air. I’m fine.” Bloodhound's tone changed instantly from bubbly to annoyed.

Elliott knew he pissed them off but kept going. “No, you’re not, th-thats what I’m saying. Have you ever been to… a doctor?”

“Yes.” They said flatly. “Before I entered the Games.” 

It was customary for all contestants to be seen by a medical examiner. “Well that was kind of a while ago… what did they say?” 

“He said I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I just— I don’t believe you.” Elliott didn’t know what to do. Push too hard and they would refuse any kind of help; not push enough and the truth might never come out. All he wanted was for his companion to be safe and healthy. 

“You don’t have to. My health is my business _only_.” 

Elliott was shocked by such a cold response. He had no intention of encroaching on their personal territory, yet it seemed that was their interpretation. From the curt way they spoke to their annoyed expression, he could tell they were upset with him asking. All the good vibes from the ice cream were squashed. Now, Bloodhound had rolled over, back to him— obvious body language saying _I’m done speaking to you._ But he wasn’t done speaking. Their health, if left unattended, could pose a serious risk. Elliott needed some kind of confirmation that they were going to be okay.

He opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. As much as he wanted to scold them for being so cruel, now wasn’t the time. They were ill and he didn’t want to be another source of stress. _But they were still being cruel._ Elliott had started to piece together a disturbing habit of theirs. Bloodhound would pull him close in either physical or emotional intimacy— then push him away seemingly for no reason. There were constant mixed signals. 

_Yes Elliott, be close to me. Let’s be ‘close friends’. Let’s touch each other and laugh together, yet never say we love each other. I’m your friend, confidant, and partner in battle. You are mine. I trust you._

_No Elliott, I don’t want you. I don’t want to so much as look at you right now. I don’t trust you with the details of my life. I don’t even like you._

_I don’t want you._

It was unfair. 

They were lying sick in _his_ bed as _he_ took care of them. So far, everything they asked for, he got— and then some. Yet they refused to simply _explain_ their obvious condition. He was _worried_ — he cared about them, _deeply._ As much as they may not want that, they at least had to acknowledge that he was a human with emotions and anxieties too. It showed a blatant disregard for _his_ well-being. Initially, he believed Bloodhound was anything but self-absorbed but their actions now painted a different picture. 

What they were doing to him _was_ selfish. If they wanted to be an antisocial, secretive introvert, they should’ve just stayed in their cabin. They weren’t the only person in the universe. Now, they had people who cared about them— him and Renee at the very least. 

Elliott let out a passive-aggressive sigh and picked up his phone. He decided to leave the sore spot, for now, hoping that, once they recovered, the cough would disappear and the pair wouldn’t have to address it again. 

But the cough wasn’t the only issue… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smidge of angst interrupts the ice cream time :( Im just laying down the conflicts the pair will have in the future 'cuz everything is not always sunshine and rainbows. (Or iced cream and ravens...? lol)
> 
> Thanks for reading as always <3 Its seriously whack that this surpassed 1k hits and 140 kudos,,, like wow. I appreciate every single tiny bit of feedback. Writing for these two has literally kept me sane during lock-up. To know that other people are passionate about what I create is just… real nice uvu 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading! Stay safe <3


End file.
